


Now you know me (for your eyes only)

by nadinecestmoi



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (might or might not), 1d's songs are real, AU, Alternate Universe - Music, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Colleagues to Lovers, Dirty Talk, Duet, Exhibitionism, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, If I Could Fly, Jealousy, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Louis' POV, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Louis, Personal Assistant Zayn, Phone Sex, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Smut, Solo Artist Harry, Solo Artist Liam, Solo Artist Louis, Solo Artist Niall, Top Harry, Top Louis, but it's not excluded that they sleep with other people, closeting, harry is not, i suck at tagging BIG TIME, i'll add as it goes on, kind of, louis is out, there's no cheating, they kinda share that really, what a feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:50:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9118435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadinecestmoi/pseuds/nadinecestmoi
Summary: Based on this prompt that I found on tumblr (link in the notes):au where harry and louis are solo artists and they’re not exactly friends per se but they’re friendly, know each other from industry parties and things like that and there’s always been this weird unspoken sexual tension between them and louis’ always kinda confused bc isn’t harry the biggest ladies’ man in the industry?? and one day harry asks louis to collab with him and of course louis says yes even tho he’s kinda surprised and harry plays the song for him and louis is completely blown away by how beautiful it is and it’s a love song and he’s like damn whoever this is about is lucky as fuck bc it’s clearly written from personal experience so they spend all this time together recording and it’s super bittersweet bc they click right away and it takes louis about three seconds to realize he has a huge fucking crush on harry but on the other hand harry clearly had someone in mind when he wrote the song so the last day of recording comes and louis’ like “thanks for having me on the song” and harry just shrugs and is like “well it just seemed fitting bc the song is about you”





	1. Prologue

March 2017

Louis leaned heavily on the sleek black marble sink, his breath quivering a bit, before turning the golden tap on and splashing some cold water on his face. He closed the running water and took a couple steps back, finally finding it in himself to look up in the huge mirror in front of him. Sometimes he did this thing where he looked at himself until he didn’t recognise the man in front of him anymore, until he was staring at a stranger with a gaze that would be piercing if it wasn’t slightly unfocused. There wouldn’t have been a more inappropriate time for his monthly rendez-vous with dissociation. Why am I here, why am I me, why do I look like this, what is my life, they all seemed like easy enough questions compared to the war going on in his guts right now.

He examined his reflection. He didn’t look half bad, if only a tad flushed, somehow visibly flustered, scruffy, eyes glassy and lips wet; he felt a bit hot, although his short sort-of-fringe didn’t seem particularly damp with sweat (he still wasn’t sure about the haircut, but, Harry had complimented him, so). Oh God, Harry. Harry Harry Harry.  
He drew another deep breath and actually heard it falter way more than he was comfortable with. 

“Get it together, lad” he mumbled to himself, pressing his cold palms to his eyelids, focusing on the colour patches that formed inside his eyes. “Get it together”, he shook up, opening his eyes again and loathing his situation even more, because he wasn’t one to talk to himself, for God’s fucking sake. 

How did he get into this mess, was the question, but if he was being honest, he could have seen this coming from the very beginning. Fucking hell, he probably had seen it. It wasn’t like he would have had a choice in it going any other way. Harry was inevitable. And now, it was all over. He was mad at Harry, mad at himself. He felt stupid and used and yet he wanted more. But more, he couldn’t have. That much was clear, he had just decided to ignore it until it tore him apart. He sighed, feeling his pockets out of habit, since he knew his cigarettes were currently laying on the crystal coffee table in front of Harry’s flat screen. He was about to let himself slide on the floor and just remain there, so maybe he could somehow drag on his stay, just one more night, when he heard a soft, soft knock on the door, and an even softer voice on the other side.

“Lou… Lou, are you okay?” 

Even though Harry couldn’t see him, he rolled his eyes. Typical Harry! How the fuck could Louis be okay right now?!


	2. The one where Louis can't remember names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July in London. Louis and Zayn go to an industry party. Scotch isn't good for Louis, but the bartender with the buzzcut might be. Louis isn't good with girl models' names. Harry says he missed him.

July 2016

“The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed, babe,” Zayn chuckled, approaching Louis by the full length mirror in his walk-in closet. 

Louis’ eyes could have got stuck on the back of his head, for how vehemently he rolled them, “Please don’t quote my old shit to me?”

“But seriously,” his best friend continued. Maybe soon to be former best friend, actually. “I’m digging the long locks, mate.”

Alright. He could keep his role for now. Louis was still weak for compliments.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis brushed him off with a (fake) modest shrug, “But it’s so hard to quiff them right now.”

“You look good, man. You told me you didn’t need a hairdresser… and we should be going by now but… Like, do I need to check if Lou is available?”

“No, no. It’s just a party, lad. I’ll tell Yaser you’re doing an excellent job attending to me anyway.”

“Thanks, man.”

“An excellent job… freaking out.” Louis chuckled, mostly to himself, but Zayn heard him and made the move to mess up his soft quiff, luckily, just as his iPhone light up in his own hand.

“Saved by the bell,” he winked, then picked up. “Hello? Yeah, yeah, be right down.”

“Car’s here?”

“Car’s here. Let’s go. No braces?”

“I change my mind,” Louis deadpanned, as they left his closet, walked through room and made their way downstairs. “I’ll tell Yaser to fire you.”

“He’s my dad.” Zayn retorted.

“Still.” 

Once they got to the open space living area, Zayn preceded him to open the door, picking up the keys from the tall white console next to it. “Sorry, man,” he said, seemingly serious, “It’s just that… You know, I’ve tried playing it cool, but when I’m looking at you-”

Of course, Louis didn’t let him finish. 

They kept on bantering until the town car slowed down, finally coming to a stop. Alberto, Louis’ bodyguard, left the front seat to go open their door.

“Ready for a party?” Zayn asked, stepping out in the limpid July air. 

“When am I not.”

Albert’s was packed, for a hyper exclusive, hyper posh private club.  
The atmosphere was still quite on the classy side, but Louis was pretty sure he would be able to find himself a line or two if he went to the bathroom. Still, he didn’t think he needed it. His opinion on drugs had clearly changed since he’d become a world famous act. He was nineteen we he started, bubblegum pop songs made to appeal to teenage girls, mostly, but the critics had praised his softer tone, his raspy his voice, the different approach that he seemed to have for something that, otherwise, would have been pretty basic. He was projected into another world, one made of recording studios, tv appearances and a flight per day for weeks, and then bus rides, hotel rooms, radio interviews, a world where his days, weeks, months consisted of trying to write his own songs all while travelling, touring, charming people at public and private events and interacting with fans even when taking a piss in the local pub in fucking Montana.  
Of course, of course he had to find out that a white line every now and then could keep him going, especially after his second album (one he was decidedly more proud of) broke records and people started taking him seriously, expecting nothing but the best from him.  
However, when he wasn’t working, when he didn’t actually need it to stay upright, he didn’t fancy to get off hanging with them posh London cokeheads. He was more of a weed man himself. Speaking of which…

“Already?!” Zayn exclaimed, being at the receiving end of his obvious inquiring look. Or maybe he just knew him that well. After all, he was the son of his long-time manager, before becoming his best friend and self-appointed – then, actually hired – personal assistant.

“A drink, then,” he agreed.

They made their way to the bar, which took longer than one would imagine, given that they greeted and made small talk with multiple people along the way. By the moment they reached the glossy wooden counter, they were accompanied by Irish folk-pop star Niall Horan and two giggling models, both of whom were presumptuously taller than Louis, which he didn’t appreciate very much. 

“Just a scotch on the rocks,” Louis asked the bartender, not missing the way the man’s eyes lingered on his freshly shaved face, then on the way his black blazer fitted his shoulders and underlines his hourglass figure. Too bad his bum was hidden by the bar.

Niall sent him an enthused look.

“It’s kind of a fantasy of mine to hook up with a bartender at one of these parties, buddy! Make it real for me!”

Louis laughed. This man was a maniac, but also one of the few true friends he had in the industry, “Then why don’t you?”

“Uh, they’re always men.” 

Louis gulped, then giggled. At times, it still hit him that he was finally out. It hadn’t necessarily been the easiest thing, but Yaser was on board with it from the moment Louis told him he was gay. He hadn’t done it straightaway, because he was still so new to everything, amazed by the fact that a recording company would sign him, that he had a manager and stuff, he simply couldn’t believe it all was becoming real for him. After a bit more than a year, it was clear to him that Yaser Malik was way more than just a manager. He felt like the father he’d never really had. Louis told him everything, they’d cried a bit and hugged.  
They had to put up a fight with the recording company, at first, because of the whole heartthrob image that Louis had going on, but after his second album had pleased more for its contents than for the red chinos that Louis sported on its cover, it had become evident that if he wanted, he could force their hand. He didn’t want to, though, as he was still very young and quite scared. He’d decided to stop stunting with girls (a side of his job that he’d never understood nor, of course, enjoyed) and see what the people assumed.  
Working, another year had gone by. His new record was a money maker and his world tour sold out anywhere. His fans were younger than him, his age, way older. He was almost twenty-two by then, and he felt ready. Dropped right after his coming out, his third studio album had reached an even wider audience and, the occasional slurs and insults and ignorance aside, Louis had experienced acceptance and love from his own fanbase and also from people whom, if not on board with his first work, were now enjoying his growth. His song ‘Alive’ (“I don’t know why I wanna be with every boy I meet”, God, Louis was a proper horndog when he wrote that one) was an acclaimed LGBT+ anthem and he was proud of this accomplishment, if he could say so himself. Still, being out in the music industry wasn’t the most common thing.

“Here you go,” the bartender’s voice called him back to reality. 

He nodded and took a gulp of his drink, focusing his attention back on his friends.

“It’s quite rude, however, Nialler… to be talking about your wet wanker dreams in front of your ladies” he said that in a lower tone, but the girls seemed distracted anyways, looking at something, or someone, somewhere in the other corner of the room. 

“Oh, no… No, I think neither Kendall nor Gigi are here for me,” he said, mysterious.

“You sure? Uh, you, you planning on pulling though?” Zayn asked him, barely dissimulating that he had an ulterior motive. He’d been ogling the blond one of the two skinny birds for a bit. Louis didn’t want to be misogynistic but they both seemed annoying, so he wasn’t sure if he approved, especially since Zayn basically lived with him during his breaks.

“I’m actually… You know… Back with Ellie.”

“Oh! That’s nice, mate.” Yes, Louis approved of Ellie. She was badass and talented and unapologetic.

“Mm”, Zayn mumbled, distracted, before sliding closer to Kellie. Or Georgie? Whatever, the blondie. God, Louis was bored already. Now, he did need his weed.

“Then why are they with you?” he asked Niall, just to busy himself with something.

“Man, I’m connected!” Niall replied, a bit mischievous, wriggling his eyebrows and then laughing hysterically. He was probably a lot drunker than Louis had assumed. He handled it quite well, being Irish and all.

Louis blinked, then shrugged and threw back three quarters of his scotch. This conversation wasn’t making much sense.

He was trying to make eye contact with the cute bartender again as he heard some commotion by his side. He turned only to catch the glimpse of a navy blue blazer, a light blue shirt (Gucci, probably), left open, of course, and bouncy, artfully messy curls. Only a glimpse because, as per usual, Harry was submerged with feminine bodies, airy laughter and flirty whispers. 

“We didn’t believe that Niall knew you,” Kassandra was saying, “I love your songs!”

Louis scoffed – maybe a bit too loud. He was okay with people not praising him or his music per se, but like, these girls had been with him for the better part of an hour and they had barely looked at him once. Alright, he was gay and all, but his music deserved better, at least. His and Harry’s genre and public weren’t even that different, if not for the fact that Harry was overall more hipster and Louis’ girl fans didn’t fantasise about shagging him anymore. 

Harry was now amiably (when wasn’t he the proper gentlemen?) chatting with Kiki and Gemma. No, wait: Gemma was his sister’s name, this Louis knew. Fierce lady, lots of different hairstyles. Much like her brother, actually. 

Well, anyway. Harry was talking with the two model chicks, but as Louis looked at him, their eyes crossed, Harry side glancing at him. His stomach did something weird that he didn’t feel like investigating. He finished his scotch, frowning because all he felt down his throat was a watery drop of liquor.

He nodded at the bartender for another one, a corner of his eye still focused on Harry and his two birds. Poor Zayn, though! He was a good looking fella, he could have had a chance with Geordie. Now, instead, she was fighting with Kylie (Kim?) for Harry’s attention.

Still… Harry was looking at him. Intensely. Damn those green eyes. Old school Taylor Swift lyrics found their way to Louis brain every time he saw those two eyes, since he’d met the younger boy, over three years before, when Harry started making his name known, London, the UK, then the world. Damn those green eyes.

(He’d told Taylor, once. “Everyone’s been a teenage girl in love, Lou. Even if you’re not a teenager, not a girl.” “I’m also not in love!” “Yeah, right,” her accent had come out stronger than ever, it still echoed in Louis’ head).

“Here you go, love,” another glass of scotch, even more generously filled than the first one, was gently placed next to his hand. 

Louis averted his gaze from his friend, although slightly cross because he hadn’t greeted him yet. This guy in front of him had been nice all evening, he had checked Louis out, he had broad shoulders and a buzzcut and pink lips and the scotch was delicious. He drank half of it quickly, keeping his eyes into the other man’s, grinning filthily against the rim of his glass. Buzzcut was feeling it, definitely. Louis too. He wasn’t even bothered by the two eyes that he clearly felt on him, on his back, even if he couldn’t see them. Not bothered at all… If anything, he was-

“I love your new record, you know.”

“Oh,” he blinked quickly, but that wasn’t sexy, he realised; he made up for it licking his lips. “Oh… Thanks, mate.”

“I’m Chase, by the way.”

“I’m Louis.”

“I know.”

Louis smirked. “Nice.”

“What?” the lad chuckled.

“Just… you. You’re nice. Good mixing skills, too” he looked at his glass and took another swig, for good measure. He was starting to feel pleasantly buzzed. He had only eaten two slices of pizza about four hours prior, he’d drank fast and, on top of it all, he was kind of a lightweight. 

“That isn’t even a mixed drink.”

“I’m sure you can mix one though.”

“Oh, I can.”

Louis licked his lips again, “Is there anything you can’t do?”

The bloke looked almost gobsmacked by how quickly things were heating up, which made Louis feel bolder. 

“So what time are they letting you go?” he asked.

Chase swallowed. “I’m working all night, I think.”

Louis sensed someone approaching him. He knew who it was.  
“Are you allowed a bathroom break, at least?” he bit his lip seductively, but a hand landed on his shoulder and it startled him so much that he pressed his teeth too hard and almost drew blood. 

Suddenly, his heart was beating furiously and he felt hot all over. Chase looked at him, questioningly, but a godsend, in the form of Ed Sheeran, called him for a gin & tonic.

“Hey,” the familiar drawl of his colleague / competitor / kind of friend was a tad too close to his ear. The warmth of his breath sent a light chill down Louis’ spine. He was enveloped with the smell of artificial strawberry… Harry and his love for pink drinks. “Did I scare you?”

He scoffed, trying to regain his composure and he fixed himself on the stool and looked at the other man, “More like cockblocked me, mate.”

Harry looked taken aback for a second, before going back to his usual smug self. Long gone were the days of the insecure lad who wasn’t sure if he should let his hair grow or wear nail polish. His enormous hand was still on his shoulder; this, Louis was very aware of. His nails were now impeccably painted in black. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, finally removing his hand and leaning back on the counter, crossing his ankles. “So, what have you been up to? It’s been a while.”

“Well, I was trying to pull the-”

“Seriously, Louis! I’ve… Um, I’ve, kinda, missed you, you know.”

He looked so earnest.  
Louis was genuinely glad that he knew him. It was a unique relationship. It wasn’t the laddy bro pal thing he had with his mates from home, of course; he couldn’t even compare it with his relationship with Zayn, clearly; he wasn’t his friend as Niall or Ed. Even with Liam Payne, the child prodigy who used to despise him at first, he had managed to build a bro type of thing. People called them “Lilo” and loved their childish interactions, even if the occasions were now rare. 

Things with Harry and him had always been a bit… different. Less occasions to interact, maybe, even if they added up to a lot after all the time. Less, yes, but always pleasant, always leaving good memories. He remembered that crazy day rehearsing for Harry’s first Jingle ball, in 2014. He was so nervous and cute. Louis felt like a consumed professional and he’d helped him through, but honestly, being with Harry had been a blessing for him, too. Before that, he remembered when they first met, at the BRITs party, in 2013.  
He also remembered the last time he’d seen him before today, in January, a private party at Nick Grimshaw’s, how Louis found himself gaping at the sight of Harry, with his printed red shirt, and oh how he’d grown in the past what, six months? (Louis had been touring, Harry was mostly recording and performing small gigs). And his hair, it was longer than ever. He must have gotten a trim by now, because the length looked just about the same.  
So, yeah. Sometimes, they spent weeks seeing each other quite often, in LA, London, he could think of a couple dinners with mutual friends, in New York, that he’d quite enjoyed, despite Harry being called up by a certain Victoria’s Secret model every now and then.  
Harry was one of those people that when you’re with them, you click, it’s seamless, you feel like you know them for real and you can talk for hours. Then, he’d disappear – or Louis would, both being quite busy all over the world – and when they weren’t close, Louis realised how little he actually knew him. He wasn’t even sure he had his phone number, since they both changed it more often than not. It was like that with them. He wasn’t even sure if they were friends, but he assumed they were friendly enough to skip pleasantries and start catching up.  
Still, Harry had managed to go above and beyond with that ‘missed you’ comment. That wasn’t… that wasn’t expected. Louis didn’t even know how to reply. (“Me too, Harry...”).

“Aye, lad. What have you been up to?” 

Harry didn’t even flinch at Louis’ lack of acknowledgement of his weird line. Instead, he shrugged, “Touring, you know… Shot some sort of documentary type thing. I’m writing a bit now. I’m knackered, I’ll resume to touring in the spring.”

“Nice.”

“What’s nice?” he asked, his eyes unmoving, as if he wanted to unlock some deep secret inside Louis’ soul. Louis felt very, very warm. He squirmed a bit on his stool.

He swallowed. Shit. He’d forgot the question he’d been just asked. “Um… Ah, yeah. Ah. Why you looking at me like that, Hazbear? I’m too drunk for this.”

Harry pouted, “I was hoping you’d tell me I’m nice. Like you did to the bar guy, you know?”

Louis looked at him, wide eyed, jumping off his stool, “You were eavesdropping, Harold?” he pointed an accusing finger at him, which Harry promptly gripped with his big, big ( _big_ ) hand, using it to pull Louis closer, before releasing him.

Louis swayed for a second, like he could fall on his back having lost Harry’s grip. He didn’t stop looking at him.

Suddenly, Harry hugged him. “What the fuck is a Hazbear.”

Louis felt himself go limp in his arms, before clutching his own around Harry’s torso.

“How about we go home?” he mumbled on his chest. Maybe he was way more smashed than he’d calculated, because it seemed to him that Harry’s heart started beating frantically, but then again, maybe it was Louis’ own. He probably got palpitations from drinking too much for his tiny gracious frame.

“I, um… I actually, um, have something,” Harry seemed embarrassed but he kept on holding him. It was weird but not even too weird, for them. Louis’ mind went back to 2014, but he wouldn’t let it go there all the way. 

Louis let him go sliding his arms off him and putting his hands on Harry’s chest. “You have what?”

“Um,” Harry’s eyes wandered behind him, Louis turned to follow his gaze.

“Kirsten?!” he turned to him again. His hands were still on Harry’s chest, on the silky Gucci. Not on the even silkier skin. Wait, what.

“It’s… It’s Kendall. She’s, she’s a friend.”

“Yeah,” the hands dropped. “I think I’ll find Niall and Zayn. Congratulate Liam on the Bieber collab and all, it’s why we’re here, I think? But I haven’t seen him anywhere yet.”

“Yeah, you know, about tha-”

“Hey babe,” Kellogg’s sneaked between them, draping an arm around Harry’s shoulder. (Of course, by now Louis might have remembered her name, since Harry had just told him, but he just found it so impossibly hard to recall, so.)

“Hi, hi, Ken, look-” Harry shifted a bit, talking to her in a low whisper; but Louis couldn’t look at them together anymore, he didn’t even want to eavesdrop. God, why were the straights so disappointing?! Harry could do so much better! Well, actually, thinking about Zayn and G-thing, also the pan had disappointed Louis a bit. But Harry’s betrayal felt somehow personal, amplified by the alcohol in Louis’ bloodstream and by… by something else in the air, he guessed.

“Bye, Harry,” he said, barely glancing at him over his shoulder, already turned to leave.  
He felt a strong grip on his wrist.

“Wait!” Harry loosened, but didn’t let go, “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Chundering seems like a plan.”

A small smile appeared on the corner of Harry’s mouth, but he kept going, quickly “After that?”  
He seemed pressed, almost worried. He had crazy eyes, like a fawn lost in the forest or something. God… Louis was never drinking scotch on an empty stomach again.

“Self-deprecating, procrastinating, smoking weed..?”

“Do you want maybe to come over for dinner?” Harry blurted out, quickly, evidently having decided to ignore Louis’ attempts of not being serious. Secretly, Louis was glad for that. Also for the invitation, yeah.

“I… yes, yes. Sounds good, Harold.”

Oh no. The dimple! Louis was weak as fuck for the dimple. But Harry was smiling too big now, so there it was.

“You still live at Princess Park? That was... more than two years ago, I think?” he asked him, finding himself a bit panicked.

“No, no… I’ll, um-”

“H, I think they’re here,” Killjoy intruded, pointing towards the entrance, where someone from Harry’s management was gesturing towards them.

“I’ll text you my address, ok? And the details. The lot,” Harry told Louis, “I… I asked Ed for your number when you didn’t reply to a text of mine like… a few months back.” 

“Oh! That’s good, yeah. Was getting strange texts, had to change it. Not, not texts from you, I mean! Never got those. Clearly.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get it. Um, see you, Lou.”

“See you, Harry.”

Ugh. So Louis wanted to make an exit, yet Harry was the one leaving him in the end. Louis ran a hand through his quiff – who the fuck cared anymore if he messed it up – and realised that felt like he’d sobered up a bit now. Well, maybe not completely. He felt like he needed a good, thorough fuck, but suddenly the bartender (his name again?) seemed like too much work. Or too little.  
He settled on finding his friends, deciding that they would find Liam and then he would whine to them until they’d bring him home.


	3. The one where they meet for the first time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2013. Louis has performed at the BRITs. James Corden is a sly dog. Taylor Swift is actually a decent person here. Gemma Styles is a fangirl and her brother might just be the next big thing.

February 2013

“Global success babyyy!” James hugged him as soon as he spotted him, making his way through the crowds of the BRIT awards after party. “I’m so proud! I feel like I discovered you.”

“I mean, you kind of did!” Louis smiled, letting himself be held. “I can’t believe this, though. Great show, anyway.”

“Great performance,” James replied, “Come, I want you to meet someone!”

Louis winced a bit, “I, I’m not sure-”

“It’s not a bird, mate!”

“Oh” okay, Louis knew he was in a glass closet by now, but he hadn’t seen James in a while before meeting again to prepare the BRITs, and they had never got around to discussing his sexuality. Of course he trusted James, but he still was a tv show host, and most of their encounters had been among other people in the same business. 

“No, I mean,” James explained, as he led him through the room, “I mean it’s an artist. I’m not setting you up or anything.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed to a shag,” Louis said, relaxing and with a laugh.

“That much is clear.”

“What?!” he exclaimed, fake-offended. 

“I’m proud of you, you know,” James sounded serious, almost moved, now.

Louis’ bottom lip trembled. “Hey… I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re doing a lot.”

Louis was about to thank him, when they came to a stop in front of a leather sofa, where a strawberry blonde girl was sipping on what looked like a frozen margarita.

Louis raised an eyebrow at James, “Not a bird, Corden?”

“Well, this is Gemma, but-”

He got interrupted by someone clumsily dancing their way to the sofa, who almost knocked Louis on the floor.

“Oops, man, sorry!” the bloke put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him intensely, as if to convey that he really was sorry and not just saying it to be polite. “I’m sorry,” his tone was low, deep. Lower and deeper than needed, to be honest.

Louis found himself swallowing some sort of lump in his throat, “Hi, yeah, It’s alright, mate.”

“Hi,” the guy repeated. A young bloke, curly with some sort of quiff and a ‘bad boy meets actual angel’ look going on.

“Hi again?” Louis raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh my God! James!” according to his awestruck facial expression, the lad should have been screaming by now, but his voice was kind of calm and still very, very deep. His eyes were wide as they went back and forth between the presenter and Louis, and he seemed excited, or panicked, or both.

“Yeah, Harry, this is Louis. Louis… Harry.”

“Big fan! Sorry for… You know, just, sorry, I’m kind of buzzed,” his pupils were blown and he looked flushed, excited, overwhelmed. Louis remembered looking like that… He remembered _feeling_ like that.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Louis replied, holding the hand that the boy was handing out to him. “It’s fine. Open bar and all… gotta make the most of it”

“Right,” the bloke, _Harry_ , giggled. He downright giggled. He was a walking – twirling, stumbling – contradiction. He looked like a model and a puppy at the same time. He looked like he owned the room and yet he couldn’t hold himself upright on those pigeon-toed, skinny jeans clad, mile-long legs.

“So are you a dancer?” Louis asked, amused. James was now sitting next to the girl, who, herself, looked as if she was dry heaving and hyperventilating. Louis realised it had been a bit rude to ignore her in favour of this ballerina pirate curly thing, so he made a beeline to the sofa, while keeping eye contact with Harry to make sure he was following him. 

“Sorry, hi, I’m Louis.”

“I know! Hi Gemma, I’m- Oh God. Hi Louis. Hi Louis, I’m Gemma.”

Louis held her hand too, then sat next to James, who looked between them with a smile on his face.

“Sorry, I’m your fan, big time, like… Since WMYB,” she kept going, “Ugh, sorry. I tried not to expose myself but alas!”

“She’s drunk,” Harry declared, satisfied. He plopped down next to Louis. 

“She’s not the only one, eh?” Louis noted, still thinking about how the guy was shimmying his way to the sofa.

Harry scooted even closer to him, under Gemma’s and James’ amused looks.

Louis felt a bit uncomfortable, but he tried to dissimulate it by giving Gemma his complete attention, slightly turning his back on Harry.

“I always appreciate a loyal fan,” he told her, earnest. “Hope you’ll like my next work.”

“I’m so sure,” she nodded eagerly, “Is it almost ready?”

“Well, not really, no, but it should be by the end of the year.”

“Ah, that’s amazing!” 

She kept on talking, but staying on Gemma was hard with Harry shifting, close to him but not in his range of vision.

“Your eyelashes are very long,” Harry stated from beside him, somewhere too close to his neck, almost a whisper.

Louis burst out laughing, but his shirt was suddenly feeling a bit constricting around his neck. And if he focused on his bloke’s lips, he knew his trousers wouldn’t feel that comfortable either. So he didn’t turn, but said “Thanks, mate.” 

He tried to put some distance between them, at least for the benefit of Gemma and James, but they were suddenly getting up.

“It was great to meet you! Can’t wait for Manchester!” she exclaimed, taking one of his hands in both of hers. 

“Oh, you’ll be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Let’s get going, Gem,” James interrupted them, kindly, “I think the lads have stuff to discuss, eh?” 

Louis stared at him for a beat, watching him disappear with the girl, heading towards his wife, who quickly waved at Louis from a distance.

“So…” Harry whispered right into his ear. Louis shivered. “What do you wanna discuss?”

Louis coughed, but then decided he wouldn’t let this guy make him squirm (although…).

“How about,” he replied coyly, regaining his cool, “You tell me if you’re legal.”

Score. He rendered the guy speechless, but only for a few seconds, “I’ve just turned nineteen, if you must know.” 

“Cool. Just checking, you know, if they were serving drinks to minors.”

“I don’t look like a minor.” Harry scoffed.

“Debatable.”

“Well, just because you’ve recently grown that scruff…”

Louis laughed, “You’ll get there, babyface. So… Who actually are you?”

Taken aback, Harry chuckled, “I’m Harry!”

“Yeah, yeah, I gathered that much,” he nodded, gaze going from Harry’s eyes to his white shirt, and especially to the exposed skin where the buttons were left undone. This guy didn’t like to be constricted, apparently. “And also that you have big hair and a fucking huge dimple.”

“Loads of big things,” Harry drawled. 

Fuck.  
Keep cool.

“Oh, yeah?” Louis cocked his head in interest.

Harry opened his mouth (pink, plush, bitten mouth) to reply, but they were both startled by someone jumping on Louis.

“HEEEYYA!” 

“Jesy!” Louis greeted her, hugging her back, “How many have you had?”

“Lost count about four drinks ago” she shrugged, sitting between him and Harry. 

“Oh, hi” she looked at him, “You’d be?”

“I’m Harry, pleasure to meet you.”

“He’s a dancer extraordinaire,” Louis explained. Teasing this guy was a nice hobby.

“Well excuse me, but I am a singer.”

Louis looked at him, interested, prompting him to say more.

“I’m… um, just dropped my first single, actually.”

“That’s cool, mate, cheers. I might have heard it but I am way too busy to function lately… I’ll check it soon. Who are you with?”

They went on talking record labels, deals and contracts. It was all pretty chill, but sometimes, Louis would catch Harry staring at him with some kind of look in his eyes…  
Soon enough, however, they were met by Louis’ and Jesy’s other friends from Little Mix, who’d also performed that evening. 

Harry was excited to meet them and he was such a tease, he had game, definitely.  
Louis, on the other hand, was way too sober, so he made up for it asking for a vodka tonic and then ordering tequila shots for the table.

They were joined by more people, some guys Harry knew, some Louis knew. They weren’t sitting next to each other anymore but sometimes, their eyes would cross and Louis felt like it meant _something_ , but he was too drunk to know what. Or he was drunk, hence he thought it meant something. He wasn’t sure, by then.

“Oh my God! I know your song!” Perrie yelled at some point, gripping Harry’s arm, “I knew I knew you from somewhere! It’s so romantic. Like I love it. Cheers.”

Harry smiled, genuine, charming. “Thanks.” He would probably be banging Perrie by the end of the night and Louis made the executive decision that it was time to take more shots.

The rest of the night was a blur.  
Louis woke up in his hotel room, with a smiley face drawn on his hand with a black marker. 

 

A week later, turning the radio on as he waited for his frozen pizza to be ready, he heard a familiar voice singing about taking the same road, two days in the same clothes on the radio and he smiled fondly at the memory of the bloke with the hair and the hands and the mouth. Oh, and the eyes. The song was quite a tune, actually. He supposed he would be seeing more of the boy… he wasn’t opposed to that. 

Grabbing his phone from the counter, he composed a quick text to Perrie: ‘pez babe! just heard your shag from the brits on the radio’. 

She replied quickly, ‘why would zayn be on the radio?’

Okay, what?! But if he was being honest, something in him was kind of relieved. It was not like he’d texted Perrie only to check if she’d actually slept with the lad, of course. Still. Zayn was a good choice. Louis was friends with him, had been for two years now… Yeah, all good. 

Then, the song came to an end and that douchebag Nick Grimshaw started talking “This was Harry Styles with his single Over again. Ed Sheeran wrote on it, right?”

Oh, wow! Louis had yet to collab with Ed, he was kind of jealous now.

“Um, yeah, yes.” 

Louis found himself to be way more focused then he would normally be on Nick’s show.

“How did you guys meet?”

“Um, we’re with the same label, he’s a fun guy. He wrote a few songs for me, I’m excited about that.”

Louis could listen to this boy say _fun_ and cut every ‘t’ from his words for hours. 

“And is it true that you, well, you bonded with Taylor Swift after the BRIT awards? Is that right?” Nick teased him.

“I, um, we… we met.”

“I imagine.”

“No, really, we just, I mean, I met some pretty amazing people overall, not only Taylor. She’s still very nice of course. But not only her!”

“Alright, I see how it is. We’ve found ourselves a womanizer,” Nick chuckled, “Not _only_ Taylor, of course.”

“I, no, I mean-”

The oven’s timer covered the radio, where Harry was still rumbling, saying ‘um’ more than anything else. Louis would say he didn’t see how he could be such a charmer, but in reality, he could. There was something about this boy. He talked slow, but he wasn’t slow; he seemed timid, but he was actually confident, witty, even when he stumbled on his own words, you just wanted to know more. He was a winner. Yes, Louis was fairly certain he would hear more and more of him, and once again, he certainly didn’t mind.

Also, he was going to see what was up with Taylor. She wasn’t exactly his friend, but they had started to talk a bit more lately at some events, and she seemed more genuine that he’d first assumed. One night she’d drunkenly confessed to him of having been a beard when she was younger, before realising she had a crush on her model friend Karlie. She’d gone through a proper crisis, not only about her sexuality but about her whole approach to her career. Eventually, she’d decided she wouldn’t play games anymore and quit ‘professional bearding’, as she now bitterly called it.  
So if she liked Harry, he must have been a good guy. He still thought he was a bit too young, but that wasn’t neither here nor there. He was a proper charmer, so kudos for that.

He ate his pizza listening to the kid’s interview and faintly wondering if, or when, he would see him again.

(He did see him again, soon enough. He was everywhere. Daily Mail, The Sun, Sugarcape, TMZ. Grabbing coffee with his massive hands, leaving hotels, dining with leggy models. And why was this kid obsessed with frozen yogurt?

His next single was a slow ballad about break-up sex or something. Fitting, for one.

It’s not like Louis was annoyed, nor was he jealous. It just was a bit unfair that Harry was incredibly talented _and_ that he could shag every female that crossed paths with him, while Louis had to look over his shoulder every time he let a guy get too close to him in a place that wasn’t completely private. If anything, this prompted him to push his management and his label to let him speed the process of his coming out).


	4. The one where Harry has a proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry cooks pizza and he has an offer that Louis can't say no to. Louis has an epiphany. Bucky Barnes makes an appearance. Zayn gives advice that will go unfollowed. Louis is fucked.

July 2016

Louis stared at the line of address he’d just received. So, this was really happening. It wasn’t even weird in itself, he had known Harry for quite a long time, they respected each other a lot, they sure wouldn’t lack topics to talk about, but their relationship had always been shaped by circumstances, by the fact of finding themselves in the same place at the same time, of sharing a couple of friends, of doing the same job. For instance, he had Harry’s number saved in his phone, but he was certain it was from like two years before, and it clearly wasn’t the one in use anymore, since the London address came from an unknown string of digits. Just as Louis’ vision blurred from staring at the screen for too long, the iPhone vibrated in his hand and a new blue cloud appeared beneath the first one.

‘We still on for tonight? How does 7pm sound? I can cook and everything, of course. If you have any allergies or special diet that I should know of, please let me know. I’m glad we’re doing this. If we are. If we’re not, it’s ok. Please let me know! Much love, H’

Of course, of course Harry would write perfectly capitalized texts and sign with ‘much love’.

Another text quickly followed.

‘It’s Harry, btw’

‘H for Harry uh’, Louis typed, almost frowning because his iPhone capitalized stuff too, it somehow made it all look less authentic, but okay. ‘anyway it’s a yes for tonight, a big no for you thinking I’m in need of a diet’

‘Noo you’re perfect I meant vegetarian gluten free etc !!’ Harry replied, Louis could almost sense how alarmed he was. He smiled at his phone like a goober. _You’re perfect_ … wtf Harold.

‘None of the above, but no eat rabbit food’

‘Alright…’

Alright dot dot dot, Louis laughed to himself. What even was this man. Louis left his phone on the sofa and went to fix himself some tea, before going back to the living area and seeing he’d received three more.

‘In case you were implying I eat rabbit food, you’re mistaken. I don’t mind being healthy but it’s just the LA hipster image they gave me’

Followed by,

‘I didn’t mean that to sound snappy. More like ironic but via text it’s hard to convey’

Finally,

‘See you then, Louis. xx’

Louis actually laughed out loud, before typing back, ‘Ure weird af mate’

‘Don’t I know it ;)’

Oh God. Louis shook his head and dialled Zayn to avoid indulging in this bizarre exchange any longer. 

“Mate, where you at? You were messed up last night” his friend said, in lieu of a greeting.

“I’m home, where would I be? I just wanted to let you know that I’m not home tonight, so you don’t need to pick up food”

“Oh, okay mate. Where are you going?”

“Uh, out”

“Where?”

“At… at Harry’s. Yeah. He invited me last night, wasn’t sure he meant it but I guess he does.”

“That’s cool, mate. Good for you. He’s a nice guy, eh?”

“Nice. Yeah. Good lad.”

“…did you need anything else?”

“No” Louis said, a little too quickly.

“Mm. Well then bye, Lou” Zayn said, but he didn’t hang up. He knew him too well.

“Okay, okay,” Louis gave in, “What do I wear?!”

“Fuck me jeans, scoop neck grey tee,” Zayn replied, without giving it a second thought. He knew him _too_ well, damn.

“I- Why would I wear the fuck me jeans?”

“I mean, then don’t, Lou.”

“Well you might have a point. Like… Show the straights what they’re missing right?”

“I’m not sure that was my point, but okay. Have fun!”

“I will!”

They both hung up and, seeing that it was already almost 5, Louis decided to take a bath and get dressed without having to rush, for once in his life.

 

Two hours later, he felt like an idiot for somehow managing to be late anyway, but he flung himself into his town car, gave the driver Harry’s address and slumped on the seat, finally managing to relax. The ride was quick enough, despite a bit of traffic, turns out he and Harry didn’t even live that far from each other. Well, aside from the fact that Harry normally lived in LA or on the road, but however.

Louis thanked the driver and waved at the doorman of the residential complex where he’d just been left. 

“Hello?” the man inquired, “May I help you?”

“I’m Louis Tomlinson, here to see Harry Styles”

“Oh, of course. Take the lift to the penthouse, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“My daughter has ‘Alive’ as her ringtone, sir,” he heard the man say as he was reaching the lifts.

He laughed and smiled, taking a mental note to sign something for him when he came back down, “That’s sick!” 

The doors closed in front of him and in no time he was at the top floor. Of course, it was one of those lifts that head directly into the person’s apartment, given the fact that Harry was the sole inhabitant of that floor.  
Luxury didn’t shock Louis at all, but he himself was more of an old fashioned kind of guy, with doors and all.

With that thought, the doors opened and he walked in. 

“Hello?” he called out. The apartment was the standard huge London flat, Louis had visited his fair share of those, hell, he lived in one of them. Yet, Harry’s place had something personal, amidst the sleek aura of posh, the creamy colours, there was something warm, something personal: this felt like a home, cherished, loved, lived in.

Harry appeared in front of him, running lightly, wearing kitchen mittens and an apron over a yellow, short-sleeved, silky blouse. He was adorable.

“Hey! Pizza’s almost ready.”

They looked at each other, uncertain, until Louis patted his shoulder a bit, prompting him to start walking towards the kitchen.

“Sorry I’m late,” Louis said lamely.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I’m glad you’re here.”

The kitchen was massive, modern, with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked London on the two sides of it where it didn’t have appliances. Despite its impeccable décor, however, it smelled amazing and felt cosy and inviting.

“Did you _make_ this?” he exclaimed, bending down to look inside the oven.

Harry coughed as if he was choking, behind him, so Louis stood and turned to him, only to find him quite red, but alive nonetheless.

“You okay?”

“Brilliant,” Harry nodded, looking down, “I made this, yeah,” he opened the oven door and carefully let the tin slide out, before grabbing in with his mitten-clad hands and placing it on the island. “Was just about to get it out when you came in.”

“Siiick. It smells great.”

Harry removed the mittens and gestured to the living room, “I made the table there, it’s… has a nicer view.”

“Nicer than this?” Louis raised an eyebrow. He meant the kitchen’s view, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Harry’s slight blush.

“Um, well-”

“I’m joking, lead the way.”

Harry smiled and the dimple made its appearance. Louis smiled back and followed him. Oh God. The table was laid out impeccably. This felt strangely like…

“There’s actually a reason I asked you here, you know,” Harry called from the kitchen, where he’d gone back to get the pizza.

“Oh! Yeah I was… Wondering, I think.”

“I mean! Of course I’m happy to spend time with you and all, now that our schedules allow it,” Harry sat and served Louis and then himself, leaving the rest on the tin between them. Several bottles of wine were already on the table, and he took hold of one, “Red?”

“Please,” Louis nodded, noticing how graceful Harry’s hand was, how lovely it looked with his rings on.

They started to eat and Louis just had to make some orgasmic noise when taking the first bite, “Harold, this is insane.”

“Thanks?”

“Oh my God, you shouldn’t have let me know. You might never get rid of me now.”

Harry laughed nervously. “Funny that, because, I was kinda, um, so the reason I called you here.”

Oh Lord. Fuck. Shit. Louis heart wasn’t ready for what was about to happen. He’d just arrived, for fuck’s sake! It was all moving too fast. 

“I, um. I have a song and I was wondering, like, um. If you would collab on it with me, some kind of duet of sorts?”

Oh. Okay. This was professional. It’s not like it was disappointing, it actually was quite cool. Super cool, now that he thought about it, albeit having taken him completely but surprise. 

“Are you shocked?” Harry asked, amused. He was so strange, all confident one moment, insecure and mumbling the next, and then king of the fucking world again.

“I wasn’t expecting it, but man, I’d love that! That would be so cool.”

“So the press could stop calling us frienemies.”

“Is that why you called me? You need good press after your most recent break-up?”

“No, no,” Harry laughed, running a hand over his face, “And that’s not even… Um.”

“Mh?”

“Forget it. Let’s eat and catch up. We’ll discuss work later.”

Louis nodded happily, “Sounds like a plan.”

 

Once they were finished, Harry cleaned up the table, Louis protesting a bit after his semi honest offer for help was refused and eventually settling for sitting on a tall stool by the kitchen island, observing Harry as he loaded the washing machine, his hair falling over his face, his biceps flexing, his spine barely visible through the silk of the shirt as he bent down. Uh. What. Well the wine was really good, Louis must have had too much, definitely.

Louis cleared his throat, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he suddenly felt. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry reached him, “Do you wanna hear the song?”

“Sure,” he nodded, maybe a bit too eager to look honest. _I’m not really ready wait I feel sick and you look too good and it’s making me uncomfortable_ but “Can’t wait, let’s go.”

They settled on Harry’s sofa, Harry had a guitar and Louis made sure to be as far from him as he could without seeming rude. He just couldn’t be too close. He just couldn’t, and he didn’t feel like finding out _why_ right now, or anytime soon.

Harry, however, looked oblivious to the turmoil Louis was experiencing, if only a bit nervous for the song, probably, since he chuckled awkwardly while putting his hair up in a bun, before resuming to pick up his guitar. 

“I mean, it’s just… it’s just a draft probably, alright?”

“Just play, Harold.” 

He nodded and strummed a few chords, humming. Louis bopped his head and made himself more comfortable, kicking his shoes off to sit cross-legged and stare at Harry better. He was just a hypnotizing performer and there was no use in denying himself the pure pleasure of hearing the man play and sing.

And sing he did, almost startling Louis as his voice started drawling out the first words, firm but somehow insecure. It made Louis shiver.

_“Through the wire, through the wire, through the wire, I’m watching her dance, dress is catching the light, in her eyes there’s no lies, no lies, there’s no question, she’s not in a disguise.”_

Ooh shit. Louis realised his heart was pounding. This was a love song and he felt as if he was intruding into something very personal, as if he was reading Harry’s diary or stalking his browsing history.

_“What a feeling to be right here beside you now, holding you in my arms, when the air ran out and we both started running wild, the sky fell down, but you’ve got stars in your eyes and I’ve got something missing tonight.”_

Fuck. Louis wasn’t good with emotions. Like, not this kind. He was a nice friend and a good person and all, he did lots of charity work and it honestly made him feel better if he just knew he’d made someone happy. But this kind of shit, love and all… tried that, failed that. He wondered why Harry would have him on such a deep, personal song. Each word resonated with Louis, he felt in tune with this song, with Harry, yet he felt as if he was being allowed to peek into a piece of the boy’s heart, and honestly, he failed to see what he’d done to deserve such an honour. 

_“What a feeling to be a king beside you, somehow, I wish I could be there now,”_ Harry’s voice broke infinitesimally and Louis’ heart broke with it.

Harry had kept on singing without looking at him and as soon as he was done, Louis managed to see he’d been holding his breath all along. He released it and met Harry’s eyes. There was just so much behind them, Louis almost couldn’t handle it. He could read nervousness (wasn’t it adorable) and a touch of smug anticipation, like _tell me what you think and be honest_ but also I know this could be great and I know that’s what you’ll say too; he could read some kind of weariness, _I know I’ve just shown you a massive part of myself and my story, please be gentle with it_ ; most of all, though, he saw interest, curiosity, _I genuinely, deeply care about what you’re going to say next_. 

He was overwhelmed and, to his deepest regret, his voice conveyed it perfectly, as he rasped, “Woah, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, he wouldn’t take them off Louis, now. “Don’t you… you don’t like it?”

“No, man, I love it. Honest. It’s so good. Like. Deep.” (Oh fuck. Oh no.)

“Deep..”

“Mm, yeah, like, you’ve got some powerful lyrics there, lad. I’m impressed.”

“Oh,” Harry seemed relieved, “Good. Um, so. Do you… like. Want to record it with me?”

“I mean, of course. I’d be honoured actually.”

Harry chuckled quietly, looking away from Louis, at the black screen of his television, “Same.”

“You’d be honoured to work on your song? That’s some next level confidence, mate.”

Harry looked at him again, mockingly offended, “I meant I’m honoured to work with you, come on!”

Louis laughed, “You’re just so easy to mess with, Harold.”

Harry pouted. Downright pouted. Louis was staring to see this, _this_ for what it was. He just wasn’t ready to accept it just yet.

“How about a film?” Harry asked, mercifully regaining a neutral facial expression.

 _How about a f-_ Cough. “Shouldn’t we talk, like, logistics? To meet and record and such?”

“I have your number for that,” Harry shrugged, “But you’re here now and the food has made me comatose and I’d really like to just chill. Like, um. With you.”

“’lright.”

Harry beamed, going for the remote. “Marvel or DC?”

“Is that a serious question?!”

“Fair. Winter soldier or Civil war?”

“Now we’re talking. Winter soldier?”

“Sure.”

The film started playing, but despite the sight of Cap and Bucky, Louis couldn’t take his eyes off the marvellous boy sitting next to him, socked feet (were those unicorns?) propped on the table in front of them, arms crossed, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“You know,” Harry said, without taking his eyes off the screen, “You can come closer.”

Louis blushed furiously, thanking the fates that Harry was still focused on the film, but also uncomfortably aware of the fact that somehow, Harry could still see him trying not to squirm.

“I’m okay here,” he croaked.

“Suit yourself.”

Within minutes, he’d gotten so close to Harry that he could feel his warmth, smell his cologne, see the hint of a satisfied smirk on the corner of his (perfect, delicious, sinful) mouth. By now, the truth was unavoidable. He could pretend not to see it, because it was fucking inconvenient, because the lad was straight, for fuck’s sake, because he was clearly in love with someone, because they were going to work together, because they might just maybe be the greatest thing that the world had ever seen. He could pretend that his hearing wasn’t tuned on Harry’s breathing more than on the film’s audio, he could even decide to concentrate on that, push that weird awareness of Harry’s very existence away, out of his system, but what was the use when inside his head Harry’s words were echoing everywhere and he was just so cute, so fun, so nice, so witty; their conversation at dinner had been seamless, easy, but also charged of something that kept him on the edge; their interactions over the years chimed in, glimpses of dorky Harry through sex god Harry and fashion icon Harry but overall he was just Harry, the sweet guy, the good guy, his friend, wait were they friends? It was all just coming back to him now, wasn’t it? And he could pretend all he wanted, but there was no denying that his heart was dancing in his chest, that his skin was prickling, his hands sweating, that his neck was hot, that every single one of his senses was alight, that everything in him was screaming with the realisation that he had a fucking crush on Harry Styles.  


They watched the rest of the film silently, for the most part, only exchanging tiny comments on the best action scenes and glancing at each other for a split second each time they both laughed at the same bits.  
Louis refrained from commenting on how the actors looked shredded because honestly, first off, Harry was straight and secondly, Louis’ crush on Harry, now that he’d come to terms with it, was quickly overshadowing his undying love for Bucky Barnes. Mostly because Harry was real, he was next to him, he smelled like Tom Ford and skin and pizza and why was that so arousing, it was beyond Louis to know.

He felt Harry shift closer to him and noticed the ending credits on the screen. He tried not to flinch and not to look like he’d just spaced out while fantasizing about Harry in a baker apron.

“This has a scene after the credits, right?”

Hearing Harry question him about such mundane things brought him back to reality.

“Yeah, of course. Can you believe Zayn turned it off the first time we watched?! I mean, before the final scene!”

Harry laughed, probably more amused by Louis’ outrage than by Zayn’s ignorance on Marvel marketing techniques.

“He didn’t!” 

Was he… mocking him? Well, Louis was going to play along.

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “I know, right?!”

“Scandalous.”

“Insulting.”

“Embarrassing.” 

“Disgusting.”

“Woah,” Harry giggled, “That’s maybe too harsh.”

“You’re only saying it because you’re out of adjectives, Harold.”

Harry bit his lip, a small grin threatening to make his dimple appear again. Louis wasn’t ready for this, not after his recent epiphany. 

Instead of replying, Harry leaned back on the sofa, his neck flexing as he tilted his head back, exposing the milky, smooth skin that Louis found himself staring at, before blinking himself back to decency.

“So,” Harry said, quietly, closing his eyes, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Louis’ head snapped to look at him better. He rearranged himself, his side on the seatback. “Who is?”

“Uh, Zayn,” Harry’s confidence seemed to falter for a second, but then again, he was literally asking this while almost falling asleep, so.

“Oh! No… no, no.”

“That’s a denial if I’ve ever heard one,” Harry opened one eyes and peered at him.

Louis raised an eyebrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Harry opened his eyes again and ran a hand through his hair, sitting in a way to mirror Louis, “So you a free man?”

Louis heart was about to jump out of his chest. Fuck, Harry, fucking tease. He’d just sung him a song about a girl with a dress and now he looked at him all wide-eyed, pupils blown and crazy hair. This was not okay.

“Not that you’d care,” he shrugged, coming off a hint snappier that he’d planned, “How’s Kellie?”

“Her name’s Kendall” Harry mumbled, looking down.

“Nice,” Louis stood up, “Anyway. I’d better get going. Thanks for, you know. The food. The cake. Film. And the song! It’s an amazing tune, I’m sure it’ll be a success.”

“I mean,” Harry smiled, getting up too. His hand twitched as he extended his forearm, as if he wanted to grab Louis’ bicep, maybe, or pat him on his shoulder? But he did none of that. “I mean, if we both feature on it. I’m pretty confident people will like it.”

Louis smiled too, the bitterness of just seconds before already forgotten, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Harry walked him to the door, staying behind as Louis grabbed his belongings that he’d somehow managed to spread around the house. His phone was on the table where they’d dined and Louis noticed, stunned at himself, that he’d never felt the need to check it.  
He now had his shoes back on and he shrugged his suede jacket on his shoulders, although he was probably going to need to wear it as soon as he stepped out in the chilly English summer.

He turned to Harry, who was leaning back on a wall, mile-long legs crossed at the ankles. He was in his socks and yet he still looked put together and worthy of a magazine cover, Louis wanted to laugh (or cry, if he was feeling dramatic).

“Thanks for having me, then.”

“Thank you for coming. It was a pleasure. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Same! When should we begin?”

“I have studio time on Monday, if you’re up for it. Otherwise I can work on other stuff, it’s no problem.”

“No, no, that should work. I’ll have to check with Zayn but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Great,” Harry nodded. He looked as if he wanted to add something, but he didn’t, only stepping away from the wall to walk Louis to the door (as in, the lift).

“Well, see you then, Harry,” Louis smiled at him, clasping his hands together, unsure if he should go in for a hug, a handshake or just drop to his knees.

“Text me, okay?” 

The lift’s door opened, with a light sound that managed to startle them both anyways. 

No hug then. Louis stepped in, “I will.”

The doors started to close.

“Wait!” Harry’s hand slid between them, to keep it still. They opened again. Harry just looked at him, putting a foot in the lift so it wouldn’t depart again.

“Yes?” Louis asked, slightly amused by the urgency on Harry’s face.

“I’m… I’m not with Kellie. Kendall, I mean. We’re friends. The song’s not about her. Just thought you should know, you know, I wouldn’t want you to, um, sing a song about, um. Somebody else.”

“Sick,” the word escaped Louis’ lips before he could control it. Harry looked pleased, beaming.

“Glad we cleared that up,” he stepped back. 

“Me too.”

Harry’s genuinely happy smile was the last thing Louis saw before the doors closed again and he made it downstairs.

 

As soon as he was home, Louis called Zayn. He was probably just postponing the unavoidable wank he’d been building up on his ride home, but that was him, professional ‘til the end.

He sprawled on the bed and put the call on speaker, although keeping the phone next to his head.

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” Zayn picked up, “How was dinner?”

“Am I free for studio time on Monday?”

“Are you high, man? You _want_ to work? On your summer break?”

“I might have had an offer. An interesting one.”

“Harry?!”

“Yeah, yes, he wants to collaborate, he played me the song, it was… Well, look, it’s late, I just wanted to fill you in, since you’re my assistant and all.”

“How thoughtful.”

“When am I not.”

“Have you thought about how you want to promote this? What does Harry’s management say?”

Zayn was met with silence on Louis’ end. He hadn’t thought about any of that and he didn’t give a damn, for now, he just wanted to record a beautiful song with an artist he respected a lot and who had lips that looked like they could suck the life out of him.

“Man? Lou, you there? Alright. I’ll leave you to your wank. Try not to get burned, okay?”

“I have no idea was you’re talking about,” Louis scoffed, but he was already palming himself through his trousers. He threw his phone on the other side of the bed (of course, it fell).

His skinnies were down to his knees in no time, quickly followed by his pants. He dragged a firm hand on himself with no preamble, just the way he liked it when he had to it himself. He’d been half hard since the film on Harry’s couch, probably. Since he’d noticed Harry’s habit of pulling his lip between his fingers. Or since before, maybe, yes, maybe since the bridge of that fucking song.  
He was hard as a rock now, and he relished the feel of his hand as he started jerking off faster, rougher. He was sufficiently wet by now, but there was no denying a bit of lube would have made it all smoother. Yet, he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t mind the pain, and wondered if this was how Harry liked it too. He surely was a fucking beast in the sheets, so dirty, he looked like he could tear an asshole apart. But no, no, maybe that was an act, maybe he liked it sweet and slow and tender. He slowed his pace, breathing laboured already, sweat gluing his now undone quiff to his forehead and back, on his neck.  
He imagined Harry hovering over him, removing his hand and replacing with his own, his huge, bony, elegant hand, and then his mouth, those sinful lips… Such a waste, _such a waste_ , he might have even mumbled it out loud, to himself, between hisses and moans because fuck, _fuck, Harry_ , those lips were made for choking on cock, God. He was going at it fast again, heath pooling at the bottom of his belly. His chest heaved, his eyes were closed and he was seeing stars and Harry, Harry, how good he would look, glancing up at him from where he’d be, face buried in Louis’ groin, he would let Louis put a hand on the back of his head and guide him back where he wanted him the most. He would let Louis do anything to him because that was _Louis’_ fantasy, for crying out loud. Louis groaned at the thought, coming on his hand and tummy within one more minute, biting his lip so hard that he drew blood. 

_Try not to get burned_. Well, it wasn’t like Louis did well in following advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey :) i was off because of holidays and such. happy new year everyone! 
> 
> i don't know but i feel like i should explain why i didn't choose if i could fly as THE song, and it's pretty simple: i think it's a song for two people who are each other's everything, much as h&l are in real life. it's not a song for someone you like from a distance, not even for someone you're in love with, if it's unrequited, it's not for someone you adore but you've never been with.  
> it's a song for a freaking soulmate and someone you share your whole life with, someone whom you've made your home. it's probably the greatest love song of our generation (sorry, i love making dramatic statements) and i felt like it would be too much here, since it's more of a pining kind of thing - for now! - and that it would somehow lose its deepest meaning. i hope the choice didn't disappoint. i was going to go for something great but then i felt as if it would be a bit more obvious and also (sorry, harry) it's way less mature than what harry writes now, so even if it's still amazing, i wasn't sure 23 yo harry would write it like that. also, what a feeling is probably my favourite 1d song and i thought the mention of the girl dancing might add to louis' confusion, which is what i need for the plot. so, angst might occur soon ;) 
> 
> please comment & share your thoughts? xx, N


	5. The one where they are high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 2014, LA. Taylor Swift is kind of nice. Harry is having a breakdown. Louis is high, sings Lana del Rey and gets Harry to relax. Liam makes an appearance and he has shit taste in drinks. The afterparty is just insane.
> 
>  
> 
> [Warning: you might find some content at the end of this chapter upsetting. It's nothing major and it's consensual but it might feel weird or trigger you in some way. I am no one to judge. In that case, if you're feeling uneasy once you get what's about to go down, I suggest quitting the chapter around the time where they reach the toilets.]

December 2014

Louis was eating mini peanut butter cups, laying half naked on the sofa of his dressing room. Seriously, it was winter in bloody _LA_ : not that cold. The heating was exaggeratedly high. (Louis was kind of high too, which might have caused his sudden impulse to strip and eat his weight in American snacks).

He heard a knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice, “Doll, you in there?”

He glanced down at himself, speckled socks, black pants and no shirt. He shrugged.

“Come in, Taytay.” 

“Oh,” she blinked, “Sorry, I had no idea you were inde-”

“If you were about to say ‘indecent’, love, let me stop you right there” he said, sitting more upright to make space for her on the soft couch, “I am a vision and you’ve been blessed with it.”

“You’re high as a kite,” Taylor laughed, sitting next to him and ogling the bowl of mini Reese’s in his hands.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re too skinny for this kind of shit,” he snapped, protecting his treasure.

“Whatever,” she chuckled, “I just wanted to say hi before I have to change. It’s been a while.”

“You’re not dressed?!” Louis exclaimed, looking at her sparkling Christmas sweater, maroon with a fluffy white kitten in the middle of it, “I just thought…!”

“Shut it!” she shoved him playfully, “So, how have you been?”

“A bit overworked, but fine. Voice is shit this week so I’m kinda nervous.”

“Aw, don’t be. Your voice is amazing.”

“I have a sore throat.”

She shot him a meaningful look.

“Oh, no, like, I wish. An actual, sad sore throat. Caused by temperature range, going from freezing me balls off to melting on this disgusting piece of faux leather.”

“Someone’s in a mood.”

“What did you want, anyway?”

“I told you, to say hi!”

“I’m going to an afterparty you're hosting” he noticed, “What did you want.”

“Alright, alright,” she giggled, “I might have an ulterior motive. D’you remember that guy Harry?”

“Do _I_ remember? Haven’t you shagged the man?”

“Uh, no?!” 

“It was all over the news! I was in Brazil but I really wanted to call you for details.”

“Don’t trust the press, Lou. He’s too young for me and I’m really not his type.”

He scoffed, “You’re everyone’s type.”

“Not your type, right?” she winked.

“Fair enough,” he nodded, “What’s up with Harry then?”

“He’s in his room having a mental breakdown. He’s had some bad press lately due to his, ehm, reputation, I guess? Poor baby. He doesn’t deserve it, like at all, but…” she shrugged, “Anyway. He asked for you.”

“Me?”

“He knew you were in for rehearsals too, says he wants to see you but then he changed his mind. I, however, think it’ll do him good. And you too, probably. Like, putting jeans on, maybe a shirt?”

“Fine” Louis rolled his eyes, getting up.

He put on some ripped black jeans and a loose grey talk, with armholes that exposed his ribcage, deciding to forego the shoes.

“Let’s go.” 

Taylor led him to Harry’s room, then mumbled something about sound check and left him. The door wasn’t shut, so he glanced in the crack to see if he could spot Harry, but he didn’t.

“Hey, can I?” he asked, low, but he was already going in.  


Harry was on the floor, a black cloth on his face. Louis noticed that this dressing room was significantly smaller, but way more luminous that the one he’d been assigned, sunlight streaming through a high window directly toward the centre of the room, close to where Harry was laying. Some flowers and a scented candle (vanilla with a hint of cinnamon, it seemed) made it all feel quite cozy.

Lana del Rey way playing.

Harry picked up the cloth and turned his head, most likely to assess who was disturbing him in his drama queen moment. 

“Louis!” he exclaimed. He quickly stood up. He was wearing all black, skinnier than skinny jeans and a t-shirt, with leopard printed Chelsea boots. His hair was significantly longer than he last time they’d met, curling effortlessly, in an elegant wave, on his neck.

“Hey! No headscarf?”

Harry flipped his hair with a laugh, his dimpled denting his cheek, although his eyes were red and puffy, “I’ve outgrown them.”

“Sick.”

“Thanks?”

Louis nodded, “You look good, seriously.” 

Harry beamed, “Thanks, man. Um, what are you doing here?”

“I’m introducing you to my pre-show routine,” Louis replied, stuffing a hand in his pocket and rummaging to find what he was confident he’d left there, “In the form of Mary Jane herself”

Harry opened his eyes wide, “Look, I’m no saint, but my mom is here.”

“Aw,” Louis cooed, “You’re so cute,” he bopped his nose, too high to wonder why the fuck he was acting like this with a guy he’d barely seen three times in two years. “Bye, then, Harry.”

He turned and made his move to leave, but he was pulled backwards by Harry’s arms wrapping around his middle from behind. They tumbled on the sofa, Harry still holding him. 

“Light it up,” he chucked, before letting him go.

Louis was feeling very, very hot again, but it wasn’t appropriate to strip here, so he resorted to the remaining weed in his bag. 

“Close the door, please,” he told Harry, who calmly obliged.

He rolled the joint as Harry played with his own bottom lip, eyes on Louis’ fingers. 

Lana’s sultry tone filled the air around them, thick and heavy.

Once he was done, Louis looked up and Harry’s face was a tad too close for comfort.

“Since you’re stressed,” he said, as lightly as he could, considering he was feeling somewhat flustered, “You go first.” 

He slipped the blunt between Harry’s lips, his index finger touching them slightly. They were moist and he had to resist the irrational urge to lick his own finger, to somehow know what Harry tasted like.

Harry smoked sexy. That much was undeniable. He passed Louis the joint holding it to his mouth with his own hand, Louis taking a long drag.

They smoked the first one in silence, only Lana as a background noise.  
He knew he was probably overdoing it, but Louis rolled another one. 

“Why did you come?” Harry asked him when the second smoke was almost over, looking at the ceiling. 

Louis looked up too, blowing some smoke. There was a sad looking neon lamp above them, flickering weakly, which wouldn’t be noticed since the sun was still up outside. Louis had always wondered what was with the entertainment industry and artificial lights. For real. Everything was artificial. Fake. He ran a hand on his scruff, wondering if they were going to shave him: he would fight them, because he was digging this gruff look. He pouted and Harry’s hand was close to his lips again, holding the joint for him. He took another long drag, then Harry took it back for himself. Louis couldn’t take his eyes off that cross tattoo on the side of his hand.

“I think I forgot your question, mate.”

“Why are you here?” Harry repeated, amused, calm.

“Oh. Uh, they told me you were stressed. Wanted to help. Is all. Looking properly dramatic over there with that towel on your face.”

“It’s like a technique,” Harry explained, gesturing exaggeratedly and risking to burn them both with the blunt, “It relaxes me. Makes me feel… like, um. I don’t know, like I could be anywhere.”

“It just made you look crazy, bro.” 

“Bro,” Harry repeated, imitating Louis’ accent.

“Bro.”

“Brooo.”

Louis laughed, leaning on Harry, almost straddling him. He inhaled the sweet, earthy smell of drugs and Harry and vanilla candles. “Bro,” he whispered right in Harry’s ear, before blowing in it. He then laughed lightly, got up and ran (it was like three steps, probably) in the middle of the room. 

He liked the song that was currently playing, as the sun was almost setting outside, the room glowing with a surreal haze, dipped in the remaining sunlight but also illuminated by the lamp.  
Louis felt wild and light as a feather. He twirled and threw his hands in the air, moving them in a way that he deemed sensual, although a voice in his head told him he probably looked like an octopus with only two tentacles.  
But whatever. Lana made him feel sexy and Harry had never once stopped looking at him, almost in a state of trance.

He sang, swaying slowly.  
_“I got my red dress on tonight, dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight, got my hair up real big beauty queen style, high heels off, I'm feeling alive.”_

Harry was still smoking, a glimmer in his eyes.  


“Gonna leave me to dance all by myself?” Louis whined, twirling again and almost losing his balance. In a second Harry was up, keeping him still.

They swayed together, Harry’s hands on his hips, Louis’ on Harry’s shoulders. For about three seconds, they were serious, then both burst out laughing. Before the end on the song, they were back on the couch, sitting closer than before.

“You feeling better? Ready for sound check?” Louis asked, tone delicate. Harry was delicate and he deserved softness, Louis was thinking.

Harry nodded, glancing down. “I think. There’s just… so many big names, you know? I know I’m going to be talked about too and I don’t, um, like, I don’t appreciate the way the press talks about me, sometimes? I feel like… I don’t know. They just don’t get me.”

Louis’ heart broke. 

“Aw, baby,” he pouted, as Harry raised his eyes to him; the green still visible around his blown pupils was accentuated by the redness surrounding it, it almost looked fluorescent. 

“Don’t make fun of me,” Harry said, serious, “You don’t know- Um. I’m sorry. I’m sure you know what it’s like.”

“I might,” Louis shrugged, scooting closer to him. 

“Congratulations on your coming out, by the way,” Harry swallowed and bit his bottom lip, “I was very proud of you.”

“Cheers, love,” Louis smiled.

They didn’t say anything else for a couple of minutes, but Harry had taken Louis’ hand and started playing with his fingers.

Someone knocked on the door, startling them. “You up in ten, Harry!” 

“Okay!” 

God. Something about the way Harry pronounced the word ‘okay’ was mesmerising. Louis was too high for his own good. 

“You ready?” Louis said, brushing Harry’s hair away from his forehead with the hand that was free from his grip.

Harry disentangled the other one, too, to place both his hands on Louis’ cheeks, carefully. His pupils were the size of two black holes. Or maybe they were supernovas.

“I’m still a bit nervous,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Louis croaked, “I… Maybe I can help.”

Harry nodded slowly, brushing his thumbs on Louis’ cheekbones. “Please.”

Slowly, Louis leaned onto him. Harry’s mouth was slightly agape, red and juicy like some kind of forbidden, exotic fruit. Or maybe Louis was just delirious. Harry looked at him like he’d just seen God, Louis blamed that on the weed too. They weren’t thinking, just acting. No kiss had ever been more natural than that first, careful, sweet brush of lips. But neither of them let go, Harry moved forward, his tongue meeting Louis’ before their lips touched again. He was still cradling Louis’ face with his hands, Louis did the same.

They kissed slow, lazily. Harry tasted like weed and peppermint, his mouth was warm and so, so soft. Louis could go at this for hours without any other implication (also he maybe was too high for that. And Harry was probably just a straight confused boy who got smashed but he was so, so sweet and Louis didn’t give two shits). Harry bit on Louis’ bottom lip, dragging it. Louis smirked, ran a hand through the boy’s hair and went back to kissing him. It was hands down the best weed induced snog he’d ever experienced, so soft, somehow bittersweet, not committed but also full of tenderness.

Ten minutes flew by and someone was back for Harry. 

“I’m much better now,” he stated, fixing his hair. 

“Welcome,” Louis smiled.

“Um. Uh. Would you still accompany me to sound check? Show me how it’s done?”

Louis nodded, “Sure, Haz. Let’s go.”

 

At the afterparty for the Jingle Ball, Louis was kind of tired of talking about Harry without seeing him. They’d been together all day, no weirdness after their snog in the dressing room. Harry was genuinely fun and smoking together had also helped ease the mood. Now, though, he was nowhere to be seen and Louis was beginning to think that this was just a one off, that Harry was one of those people who make you feel like their best friend for a day before going to someone else. Not because they’re mean, no: because it’s their nature. Like a butterfly wouldn’t stay on the same flower for more than two seconds, no matter how pretty it was. They were meant to fly and so was Harry.

Still, Louis would appreciate if Liam would stop going on and on about him.

“I swear, man! And he was always glancing backstage! Do you know if the song is about someone? Or if he had someone waiting for him backstage?”

“Night changes? I’d love to know!” Louis exclaimed, coming off snappier than expected.

Liam looked at him, confused, taking a sip of his vodka and Red Bull, “What do you mean?”

“It is what it is,” Louis shrugged, “Have you seen Zayn?”

“You okay, man?” Liam put a hand on Louis’ bicep, seemingly preoccupied. “You look a bit fidgety.”

Louis shook his head, “I’m just buzzed.” 

“Then you shouldn’t smoke anymore. Or snort,” he added, concerned.

“I don’t snort,” Louis spat, “…unless absolutely necessary.”

“No, I know. I know, Lou. I’m sorry. Let’s find our friends, alright? Ed must be around here somewhere, and Niall too. Although, bro, they might not be together after the whole Ellie drama.”

Louis followed him into another room. Their friends were nowhere to be found, but, Harry was. As expected, a girl was hanging on every word he said. She had a laugh that was slightly tinny and certainly she was overdoing it, since Harry wasn’t even that fun, but Louis could hear her from across the room.  
She had blonde, long hair and she was probably taller than Louis, she was wearing a green dress and stupid earrings and, oh, okay. Now she was basically giving Harry a lovebite right there on the dancefloor.

“Can I have a bit of that, lad?” he pointed to Liam’s drink. Since he had finished his own, might as well.

“Sure.”

Louis hated Red Bull, but he downed half the glass in no time, as Liam’s eyes scanned the room, looking for their mates.

“Thanks,” he gave him back the glass, basically empty.

Liam gave him his best puppy dog, concerned eyes (ironic for a guy that dressed like a rapper), “You okay, man? You just seem a bit-”

“I’m a bit horny, okay?”

Liam looked surprised, “Oh. Okay. Let’s get you laid then, uh?”

Louis looked around. Harry was still dancing with the girl. He danced pretty awkwardly, which Louis hadn’t noticed back when they’d waltzed to Lana del Rey. He brushed away that thought: Liam was probably right, Harry must have had a bird of some kind waiting for him all along. Still. They _did_ kiss, there was no denying that. He maybe had underestimated the weight of it all. Or maybe he just was really horny. Not for Harry. Like for an actual gay (or bi, pan, whatever) male who knew what he was doing and didn’t kiss people just to relax. Plus, he and Harry were kind of friends, maybe, after today. Their relationship was pure. Their kiss had been pure. Fuck’s sake, Louis _needed_ to get laid.

Luckily, he was good-looking enough, and stoned enough to have lost most of his (already scarce) inhibitions.  
He found a bloke he fancied within minutes. 

“You a model?” he slurred, dragging him on the dancefloor. “You make me think of Burberry.”

“Uh, actually…”

The bloke must have continued explaining, but Louis was busy manoeuvring him on the floor so that he could still see Harry, still bopping with the bird to the Enrique Iglesias song that was blasting from the speakers.

He moved closer to the model lad, whose name he didn’t catch, and wrapped his arms around his neck, dancing filthily and accompanying it all by his best inviting looks. 

The guy caught on soon enough, luckily. They kept on dancing and grinding, but Louis’ eyes would never leave Harry. On the other side of the dancefloor it seemed to be the same. He enjoyed knowing that Harry’s gaze was on him while a bird ran her hands on his shirt and mouthed his neck. It felt like a challenge, and Louis was up for it. 

When the song reached the chorus, he turned into Model’s arms, grinding his ass on the man’s cock, which responded just as he hoped. Louis was turned on. Whether it was this wicked game or the fact that he was grinding on a fit guy, he couldn’t tell. (He didn’t want to). He closed his eyes, leaning his head back on Model’s shoulder, trying to let go. Which, wrong move. The bird was trying to swallow Harry’s tonsils as soon as he opened his eyes again. The weirdest thing, though, was that Harry’s eyes were still open, and they met Louis’ immediately. 

Alright. This was it, then. “Come on,” Louis grabbed Model’s hand and started dragging him toward the bathroom. He knew he had to pass Harry to reach the corridor where the restrooms were located, but he hadn’t calculated the wits of his opponent. With a sly move, understanding his intentions, Harry preceded him and disappeared in the corridor before Louis and his mate could reach it. Louis’ caught a glimpse of the ladies’ room’s clicking shut, though, and pushed the guy toward it.

The man’s eyebrows knitted, “The ladies…?”

“It’s cleaner,” Louis shrugged, opening the door to pull him in. There were six stools and only one door was marked with ‘busy’. Just his luck. “Come.”

They were those kind of stools with doors and walls didn’t reach the ceiling and were made in a thin, sort of plastic material; they were tinted in a peach colour.

Louis grabbed the man by the lapels of his jacket and got into the stool next to Harry’s. He couldn’t hear any noises, so they weren’t going at it yet. Good. Great.

He locked the door and pushed Model on it, sticking his tongue in his mouth. At least, the bloke was a good kisser. Strong arms and good aim with the tongue. Louis wasn’t exactly hard yet, but he could get there. Or maybe he didn’t need to – Model seemed to be ready to go.  
They kept on snogging for a couple more seconds, and Louis couldn’t help but notice how different it was from what had happened mere hours before with Harry. Here, it had a purpose and it was meaningless. With Harry, it had no purpose, but it was fucking meaningful. 

Louis’ hearing was attuned to what went on in the other stall, whereas Model was probably too turned on to even mind. But, Louis could hear clearly the girl’s whining voice, saying “Hey, babe, you okay? Am I doing something wrong?” 

Good God! Louis grinned biting Model’s neck. Harry couldn’t get it up, uh? Oh well. He might just show him what he was missing, what with being straight and all.

“You know,” he whispered (more like whisper-shouted, as if the music from the other room was anything more than a thumping beat), “If we were home… You could, uh, you could open me up. I’d let you tease me for as long as you like. Until I’m begging for it. I’d go crazy. Promise you’d love it, too.”

“I’m sure of it.”

He heard a deep moan on the other side of the wall.  
He slammed his hand twice on it, he didn’t even know why, “You’d give it to me so good, wouldn’t you?”

Dude nodded eagerly, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’d love it.”

(“Finally, someone’s awake,” the girl slurred on the other side)

He raised his voice even more, unnecessarily, “Can I suck you off, uh, mate?” (Fuck him for not asking for this guy’s name, or for not listening while he was telling him)

“Fuck, yes.”

“Good,” he sank to his knees and started undoing Model’s jeans. “You know,” he continued, “I just love sucking cock. I’m quite good at it, also.” 

The bloke just nodded, but Louis attentive ear didn’t miss the whine that came from the other side of the thin wall. 

Now that he was on his knees, pulling out the guy’s cock, the craziness of the situation occurred to him. Rationally, he was being insane and stupid, but in his current state, he couldn’t stop.

Especially after he heard the girl giggle, “Oh, finally. Oh, oh, okay, if that’s what you want.”

He didn’t quite understand what was going on, until she said something along the lines of “You’ll like it.”

She was going down on him too, then. Brilliant.  
Louis licked the man’s shaft, stroking it in the same time. The model’s groan didn’t disappoint, and Louis started jerking him faster, cherishing the fact that every moan that he elicited from him seemed to be met with a strangled sound on the other side of the peach wall.

He took him in his mouth slowly, teasingly. “Tell me how good I am,” he asked, before taking him all in.

“So good, so so good,” the man growled. Louis thanked whatever god there was because this dude was fucking oblivious. Well. He was also getting head, so it wasn’t a losing deal for him anyways, he supposed.

He sped up, but he wasn’t feeling it at all. Harry on the other side was quiet. He thought about him. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed his bulge, he knew he was packing; he wondered how he would feel in his mouth, heavy and hard, how he would taste, how would he like it? He started bobbing his head and sucking furiously, he would drive Harry crazy like this, he knew. 

“Close,” the guy mumbled. Not an endurance man, but it wasn’t like Louis was enjoying this very much, now that Harry didn’t respond, so he was kind of relieved. 

The guy came in his mouth and he turned to spit in the toilet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, I just- Stop, just stop, please,” Harry’s voice said then. 

“I’ve never been told I’m not good at it,” the girl’s voice sounded bitter. 

A door clicked open; high heels clicked on the floor; another door opened and then slammed.

“Oh my God!” Model laughed, “Did you know someone else was here?”

Louis looked at him, “Thank God you’re pretty.”

“Do you…?” the bloke gestured to Louis’ groin.

“I’m not even hard. Go, please.”

At that, the man turned and followed Harry’s bird’s footsteps, not without muttering something like ‘wanker’ under his breath.

Louis sat on the floor, feeling drunk, high, alive and yet dead at the same time. He felt Harry breathing in the other stool. Or was he… crying?  
He couldn’t be sure, but his stomach twisted.

“Hey, man,” he found the guts to say, drumming lightly his knuckles on the plastic that was separating them. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

It wasn’t quite the phrasing he was looking for, but it would have to make do.

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Thanks for today,” Louis added, getting up and leaning heavily on the door as he unlocked it, feeling woozy but needing to get out quick. 

He had crossed the sink area and was almost out of the door, when he heard, “I didn’t mind!” coming from the stool.


	6. The one where there's a change of plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's still July in the UK, but Harry's ears are cold and Louis is endeared. Brunch is always good. Fans are supportive. Louis and Harry can't handle sexual tension.

July 2016

After a weekend spent getting high, playing videogames and actively trying not to google Harry (failed), Louis got ready to meet him at the recording studio.  
The song was ready in itself, so he supposed it wouldn’t be more than one, two sessions tops for the vocals. The thought made him sad and kind of nostalgic for something that could never be, but Harry was simply so easy to get along with, he was a continue discovery, one moment where you weren’t paying attention and he could be a different person completely. He was golden and irresistible. Although, underneath those layers of smug, playful, sexy, dorky, he was still Harry, good at heart, sweet, caring, mysterious and always true to himself, whoever that unbelievable person was.

“You ready, babe?” Zayn appeared on the doorframe, leaning on it with his arms crossed on his chest. “Oh,” he must have found something quite amusing, “I see how that is.”

“Will you kindly explain why you’re laughing at my face?” Louis kept on fixing his hair, which had decidedly got too long. “Also, book me in for a haircut sometime this week. Or get Lou. Whatever.”

Zayn kept on chuckling, “You look good.”

“Thanks,” Louis shrugged, running a hand on his stubble to make sure it was even. 

“Almost, like… too good.”

“Always so supportive,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean, those jeans are really tight and the tee is kind of sheer, man.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at him, feeling his cheeks heat up, “So?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Louis put on his Sandro jean jacket and took a final glance at himself in the mirror. It’s not like he was overdoing it, he was simply dressed in all black and yes, the t-shirt was a bit sheer, but it was summer, whatever. He slipped on one of his most used pair of Vans, for good measure, without socks. Yes, true, he was known to go recording in cut-off sweats, band tees and beanies, but he usually did it alone, so this was a matter of respect, if anything. 

“Let’s get going.”

 

“Mister Styles is in studio four.”

“Cheers.”

Saying goodbye to Zayn, Louis made his way through the corridors. He was familiar with these halls, but every time, a different memory was more persistent than others, infiltrating through his thoughts. This time, it was recording his first album, his mum was there. He bit his lip, smiling fondly. 

He’d reached the door, it was shut but Harry was supposedly inside, he’d been told. 

He opened and got in, “Heya! Oh! Harry!”

Harry chuckled nervously, walking toward him, rubbing a hand on the _exposed_ back of his neck. “Is it so weird?” he asked, “Do I look ugly?”

Louis choked on some spit, astounded by the whole situation. “Uh, no, I, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Say what?” Harry was significantly closer, standing in front of him at arm’s length. His eyes couldn’t stay still, Louis could see he was nervous and it was, somehow, bloody adorable.

“It’s not weird, mate, and you’re,” he swallowed, looking at his feet, then up again, at an undefined spot behind Harry, “You’re definitely not ugly.”

“My ears are cold,” Harry pouted, turning around to cross the room. It was a cosy one, chocolatey wood on the floors and walls, a big Persian carpet, in shades of red, gold and green, covering most of the flooring, two comfy armchairs and a black leather sofa. 

Harry sat on that one, meeting Louis’ eyes, “We need to talk.”

“Uh oh.”

“It’s nothing, um, it’s not bad per se. I hope. Like I hope you’re not mad, although I feel kind of guilty for… Well. I might start from the beginning, I guess?”

“You might,” Louis conceded, reaching Harry, but opting to sit on the armchair instead. Harry and sofas meant either kissing or having embarrassing revelations, and he wasn’t up for any of it, now, especially with Harry’s neck tendon exposed by his new haircut and the fluffy quiff he was sporting and his tiny ears (aw, his ears were cold, Louis realised).

“So I got a haircut,” Harry begun, trying to ease the weird tension that was crackling between the two of them.

“I noticed.”

“It’s for a reason.”

Louis nodded, politely. There’s one this about crushes and their hair: when your crush cuts their hair or makes an overall drastic change to their usual hairstyle, you feel betrayed. Somehow, you feel like you might not like them anymore, like you now have to fix all of the images of them in your head, like the person you fancied so much is gone. There’s this other thing, also: once, about a couple of years before, when Louis was home for Christmas, his sister Phoebe had asked Lottie how she could tell if she was in love or only had a crush. Lottie, swelling with her teenage wisdom, had stated: “Listen. If you still like them after they get a haircut, it’s not just a crush.” (Louis suspected she’d read that one on Tumblr, but he still found it pretty accurate and he’d smiled, endeared).

Well. Louis liked Harry very much with this soft hairdo. He reminded him of a baby chick or something. A baby chick in a Prada dad shirt. He also noticed he had sunglasses holding his hair like a headband, wondered if it was because he still wasn’t sure on how to style them.

“I feel like shit,” Harry was saying, “For pitching you the idea for the song and then just… disappearing on you.”

“Look, I get that hair is identity and all, but honestly, that feels like a tad too dramatic, even for you” Louis picked up what looked like a black jumper from the armrest of his chair and threw it on his own face, flipping his head back.

Harry guffawed, a sounds that Louis hadn’t heard in quite some time. It always amazed him when he got to be the one who’d provoked it. 

“Shit, I didn’t think you’d remember,” Harry hid his face in his hands for a second.

Louis shrugged one shoulder, sliding on the seat so that both his legs were hanging off one of the armrests, his back leaning on the other. “I’d never forget,” he threw Harry the jumper, trying not to gasp at the dimpled smile with which it was received.

Their day in LA was suddenly fresh in his mind, although some parts of it rendered blurry by the substances through his system. Not the most important ones, though. He didn’t remember the reason that had guided some of his actions, couldn’t for the life of him reconstruct his thinking process throughout the whole thing, but the sensorial memory was all there. He remembered the heat, the smell, soft touches, a laugh (a guffaw) backstage, two thumbs up when Harry had played. He remembered Harry’s deep voice, _we’re only getting older, baby_ , but wasn’t quite sure if he himself had sung ‘Once in a lifetime’ or ‘Clouds’. He remembered the bitter taste of the bloke in the bathroom and peppermint gum and Chilean smoke in Harry’s saliva.  
He glanced down, biting his thumb nail.

Harry was playing with his bottom lip, as per usual, pondering something. 

“I wasn’t finished, before you started making fun of me,” he said then.

“Go ahead, Harold,” Louis gestured, “I’m all ears.”

“When I saw you at Liam’s party, I was so set on asking you to do the song. It’s a song I’ve been writing for quite some time. I’ve always known once it was fully ready, I would want to sing it with, um, with someone. So I told myself, I have to take this chance. Because, you know, we meet and then we might miss each other for months, you know? But Ed had told me you were free this summer and I jumped on it.”

Louis just nodded, studying Harry’s face, feeling his cheeks burn a little at the idea of Harry talking about him with their mutual friends.

“Yeah?” he encouraged him, seeing as Harry has stopped and was playing with the back of his neck again.

“But,” Harry kept on, “I had tried out for a film. In March or so. When I was in LA. My agent thought it was a good idea and the script was quite cool, so, uh, so that’s it. They told me I’d got it on Saturday.”

“You’re doing a film?!? Like a movie? For the big screen?!” Louis exclaimed, without keeping his cool. He propped himself up on the armchair, “That’s amazing, mate! Hence the haircut?”

“Hence the haircut.” 

“What kind of movie is it?” 

“A war movie.”

“Oh. Seems legit. I think the hair’s a bit too fluffy for the military, though.” 

Harry chuckled, his eyes closing for a second, “They might retouch it, I guess. I’ll let them do it on set.”

“Nice, sick. Who’s the director?”

“Uh, um, it’s Christopher Nolan.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

“It’s no big deal, it’s not a major role.”

“Whatever. I’m kind of jealous, mate.”

“You shouldn’t be. You were amazing on Homeland.”

“Ha, thanks. Didn’t know you watched it.”

“I watched season five because it had you in it.”

Louis felt fire rise up from his cheeks to his ears. His legs twitched and he gathered them, holding his knees with his arms, just to be sure.

“Besides,” Harry added, evidently set on making Louis combust, “You’re too dainty for a war film. Otherwise, they would have picked you in a heartbeat.”

 _Dainty_.

“So, then, no recording?” Louis said inconsequentially, just because he had to stop that ridiculous exchange before someone – namely, Louis himself – got burned.

“Well, we could do it today, or like, I don’t know, tomorrow. I was a last minute addition and I have to start training straightaway because I’m not buff enough, apparently. So I will be kind of busy and then I’m flying to France at the end of the week. We could still do it, I mean, how long can it take? But I, I…”

“I don’t want to rush it” Louis said. Just this morning, he was literally thinking about this. Still, this wasn’t the kind of setback he would have expected. He wouldn’t be seeing Harry for a while and he was probably going to forget all about the song once projected into Hollywood stardom.

“Me neither, yeah. That’s why… You know, why no one is here but us.”

“What would we do, then?” Louis raised an eyebrow, just then realising the implications.

Harry didn’t seem to flinch, though he bit his lip and rolled his ring around his index finger, pensive but more like he was actually pretending to ponder something he’d already wanted to say.  
Louis knew, because he used this trick when he wanted like Indian food but didn’t want to seem like a lame person who had craving and fantasised about his dinner since around 3pm. (He was).

“You hungry? There’s a good bistro place just down the street.”

Bingo. Louis beamed, “Sure. No rabbit food?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, “No rabbit food. And, before you start to complain, I’m paying. I have to make up for blowing you off. I honestly didn’t think I’d made the cut, at this point.”

“So modest,” Louis scoffed, getting up as Harry was.

“Don’t tease! I’m serious.”

“That’s even worse,” Louis muttered, as they left the room.

 

“Thanks for the food. And the company,” Louis said, barely there, since Harry was so, so close. 

“You’re welcome,” his voice came out just as soft.

They’d ended up in a small park, walking off their scrumptious brunch. Louis was leaning on a tree and Harry had been picking flowers to braid in his hair, before realising his hair was too short now, and pouting.

“You can still make a crown, mate! I can show you,” Louis had said.

“You can make a flower crown?”

“What’s with the shocked tone? I’d let you know, I have an army of younger sisters. And a brother whose hair is, as of now, longer than yours.”

“That’s just mean,” Harry had said, but then he’d gone back to picking out the prettiest flowers he could find.

After a while, however, he’d just started walking toward Louis, and Louis was sure he was going to stop, at some point, at some point he would, but now he was here, standing so close Louis could smell his gum. Still peppermint.

Their moment, or whatever that was, was interrupted by a screeching sound. Harry took three steps back within instants, certainly understanding what was going on; Louis was familiar with that sound, too. They were surrounded by a group of four girls and two boys, almost their age. 

“Are you guys friends? I though you hated each other!” a red headed girl with a dark violet lipstick asked, as Louis signed her biology book, before handing it to Harry, along with the pen. 

“We definitely don’t,” Harry said, politely.

“Are you guys… dating?” another girl said, “Can we have a picture with the both of you?”

Louis avoided the first question, focusing on the girl's easier request for a hug. He shrugged, “Su-”

“Um, no, I’m afraid,” Harry interrupted him, looking uncomfortable, “We can sign your books but no photos, please. You can… you can say you met us, I guess, but…”

“But you’d rather they didn’t?” Louis’ eyebrows shoot up, his tone was bitter and he didn’t even know why.

“No, no, I mean.”

“It’s fine,” one of the boys said; he was blond and wore a lilac beanie that pressed his fringe to his eyes, “We understand.”

“We do?” Louis exclaimed, snappy, although clearly directed at Harry.

The mood had suddenly changed, the boy with the lilac beanie whispering something to two of the girls. 

Harry was still impeccably nice to everyone, and Louis too, despite something bothering him.  
They all hugged and complimented them on their latest efforts, “‘Where do broken hearts go’ got me back with my boyfriend, Harry, I owe you one” “‘Alive’ made me come out to my parents” “Who is Olivia?” “Lou, what inspired you to write ‘Through the dark’?”.

As he was help up in a scrunching hug by a petite, curvy girl, telling him he was her inspiration, Louis saw Harry mumble something to the boy in the lilac beanie and go in for a hug. Like, Harry was the one to start it. Fuck, this guy was strange. And Louis was endeared, which messed with his plan of being annoyed at Harry for not wanting to be seen with him.

Still, he couldn’t let this one go. 

“What was that about?” he asked, “You ashamed of me or something?”

Harry looked offended, “What?! No, Louis, what the hell. I… I mean, the collaboration will be delayed and I’m leaving soon. We don’t need the anticipation or the drama of it. Lou. I’m proud of being your friend.”

It didn’t ring quite right, but Harry looked genuinely sorry and he’d said _Lou_ and called them friends and Louis was so, so gone. 

“Alright,” he agreed, “I see your point. My people wanted to discuss promo for the single also, so, it’s good that we didn’t do anything rushed.”

“Yeah… yeah, right. Will you be here when I come back?”

“Well,” Louis looked around, crossing his arms on his chest, “I’m just saying, it might be a little pathetic to just stand in this garden while you shoot with the big guns, like until you’re done, might even get chilly at some point, but I mean-”

He was shut by Harry’s large hand on his mouth.

“Do you ever just shut up?!”

“For a very good reason, I might be persuaded too,” he said, Harry having freed his lips quickly.

“Um,” Harry coughed, “Good, yeah, good to know. I meant, will you be, you know, willing to do the song?”

“Sure, Harry, yeah. You’re back in October, right?”

They’d talked about it during lunch. Louis knew he would be touring at that point, but he had a break for Christmas, he assumed they could make it work.

“I’ll miss you, Lou,” Harry said, serious, stepping forward.

Louis was aflame, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew he was going to say something stupid, but not even he could fathom the words that came out of his mouth. 

“You don’t even know me.”

Harry looked as if he’d been slapped. “Woah, okay.”

“I’m sorry, look, I don’t know what- I’m sorry, Harry!”

Harry started walking off, but slow enough that he knew Louis would follow. Louis knew he wouldn’t leave him without saying goodbye: that was just the kind of person Harry was. 

“I’m sorry!” Louis repeated, walking behind him.

“It’s fine. It’s just shit when you say something nice and the other person points out how out of line you are, that’s it,” Harry was saying as they left the park.

“No, but I didn’t mean, like, babe-”

Harry’s head snapped back, to glare at Louis. “Don’t call me babe.”

Louis nodded, feeling like a kicked puppy dog but, also, like he deserved it.

“Do you need me to call you a cab?” Harry asked, once they were on the street. Fucking shit, how could he always be so bloody nice, it made Louis’ blood boil.

“I can pay for me own cab.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, annoyed, not playful. “Go ahead then.”

Louis scoffed. The road wasn’t particularly busy, but there were a few hipsterish cafés with people gathered outside and an indie concept store, hence, he could already spot a couple of cabs. He gestured to the one that had just dropped a green haired girl on the sideway and watched it approach.

“Nice,” he heard Harry mumble.

The cab had stopped and the driver looked at Louis expectantly, whereas Harry seemed to have made it a point not to lay an eye on him, tapping his foot and glancing at the sky, looking extra annoyed.

Louis looked at him, bitterly spitting, “I’m glad to see that you’re so eager to get rid of me.” 

“Whatever, Lou.”

“Bye then.”

“Bye.”

No looks where exchanged. Louis opened the cab’s door, but felt the need to add something, turning around still one hand on the door handle “I’m glad I made it all easier for you.”

Abruptly, he was almost lifted off the floor, one of Harry’s hand on his waist, the other on his face, Harry’s mouth on his for a harsh, bruising kiss. It lasted about four seconds, nothing more than a quick, rough press of wet lips, one rapid brush of tongue. 

“You never make it easier for me.”

Then, Louis was basically being pushed into the cab, heart thrumming, struggling to remember his own home address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo, bit of a plot twist. i know recording a song is usually quite a quick thing, once the song is written and all, but i wanted to give this story a longer time span, giving them time to grow with and without each other and somehow revolve around each other. i thought it fit better with the structure i've given it, so i hope you guys enjoy this too. much love as always!


	7. The one where they are apart and horny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's September. Harry is in France and Louis' holidays are almost over. Harry gets bold when drunk. Louis throws a party and ends it with a phone call.

September 2016

It was almost five am, and Louis couldn’t sleep. Fuck Zayn and that model chick. Did they think it was fun to prank call him at fucking four, doped out of his mind, because Louis was the lucky winner of a dick shaped washing machine?! Honestly. He was so disappointed in Zayn, and quite frankly, shocked that the girl who acted all posh and cooler than life would actually scoot so low. Maybe he was exaggerating, admittedly, but Zayn knew he was having trouble falling asleep lately, so why the hell would he wake him up with that call. Now, Louis was so annoyed and set on plotting his revenge that he couldn’t get his busy mind to relax. 

He could tell Zayn his Mercedes had been stolen. That could be nice. No, better. He could _steal_ Zayn’s Mercedes, _then_ call him to let him know it had been stolen. Leave it in a fucking airport or summat.  
That would involve getting out of bed, though.

Just as he was making the executive decision to grab his phone to tell Zayn that his YSL leather jacket, that he’d left at Louis’ place, had mysteriously caught fire, he saw the screen illuminate, irradiating the sombre room with its cold light. He was ready to snap at his friend, but this was just a text, he assumed, because the phone wasn’t vibrating anymore. And yes, Louis would still be asleep if he’d put it on vibrate before actually getting the call, but, this showed just how cruelly Zayn had exploited one of his (very few) weaknesses.

Stretching, he reached for the phone, which laid on the other side of the king-sized bed, partly buried in a blanket that Louis had kicked off at some point during the night.  
He picked it up and looked at the notification on the screen, almost dropping the phone on his nose.

H Styles:  
‘I want to sit on your face’

Louis resisted the urge to palm himself on the spot and threw his iPhone on the blanket again. He really couldn’t be bothered to receive the drunk sexts that Harry was probably meaning to send to that French mannequin he’d been spotted with in Paris. Not that Louis had followed him on tabloids and such. There’d just been radio silence on Harry’s side, it was whatever as far as Louis was concerned, but he couldn’t avoid it when it was blasted on his face by every fucking gossip site or on twitter. Luckily, he’d deleted his tumblr ages before, when he’d stumbled upon a so-called ‘Tomlinshaw’ fanfiction that had haunted his sleep for days. 

His breathing had evened out, the thought of getting back at Zayn wasn’t so urgent anymore; at least he could thank Harry for that. He shut his eyes with force but caught a glimpse on his phone lighting up again.  
His resolution to leave it there didn’t even properly form in his mind, that it had already been broken.

H Styles:  
‘And I miss you. See I was right’

Oh. Okay. Deep breaths. So maybe this was meant for Louis, but it made no sense. Harry had been linked to four different girls already since he’d started shooting at the end of July.

Maybe Harry had told a girl he would miss her and he was just following up that statement… However, even a traditionally sceptical man like Louis wouldn’t deny that it all sounded way too weird. Harry was probably not as straight as the press painted him, that much was becoming clear. Now he was probably sloshed and horny and apparently he was stuck on Louis. Louis wouldn’t let it go to his head. Or to his cock.

A new vibration startled him. His heart was now in his throat. He was under attack and he was defenceless.  
It was Harry again.

‘You’re probably asleep cos you haven’t read these… it’s for the best. Sorry! I’m not usually like this. Wild night… Good morning for tomorrow when u read. xx’

Louis read the message from the notification screen, then did something very stupid: he opened it.

The grey cloud with three dots quickly appeared behind Harry’s texts.

‘You’re awakkke :D’

‘Sorry tho. Dont want to freak u out. Hope I didn’t wake you’

Sighing, Louis typed out a reply. ‘A few drunk texts dont freak me harold. Go to bed man’

Harry replied immediately, ‘U in bed’

Louis chuckled at Harry’s text abbreviations, weirdly mixed with the full version of the same words. It something Harry himself would definitely regret in his posh, poised stance.

‘I am’

‘What are you wearing’

Louis rolled his eyes in the dark, composing his reply while nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘I’m not helping you get off. You have work tomorrow.. stop trying to be sexy’

‘ :( ’

‘Dork’

‘Stop being bossy louis it’s so hot’

‘Bye babe I’m going to sleep’

‘Waitwait dont go I need to tell you sumthing’

‘Tell’

‘Sorry for snapping at u cos u can alwayyyss call me babe I was just being weird’

‘Alright’

‘Will u call me babe again’

‘Probably not harold’

‘God youre so sexy I need you so much’

‘Stop it’

‘U know im in bed and touching myself now and u being mean cos u kno what it does to me’

‘I honestly cant even tell if you’re shitting me’

‘Im not’

‘I’m tired, bye harold sleep and work tomorrow’

‘I came all over myself’

Fuck. He couldn’t even tell if Harry was joking or not, but the thing was… probably not. There was no point in denying he needed to wank himself silly, now. 

 

Louis had noticed a strange pattern in reality: when something is out of your way, it can stay like that for ages, but once you first notice it, learn it, see it, then it’s everywhere. The first time he experienced this, a friend at school had told him about this cool cartoon about a teenage witch. He’d never even heard of it, and yet, right that day, turning on the telly and going through the channels, the cartoon about the witch had popped up. Louis had never tried to explain this to anyone, because it felt weird, but he’d noticed this often. It’s how, once something’s in your radar, it seems to be always there, and you wonder how the fuck you could let it go over your head before.

This is what Louis was feeling about Harry. Harry was literally everywhere, even more since their text exchange earlier that month. 

Everyone he knew was either talking about him, asking Louis about him (what?!), reading stuff about him. Clearly, Louis’ brain must have been playing with him, streaming reality through a Harry filter, because everything also reminded Louis of him. However. He didn’t have time for this. He was determined on enjoying his break until the very end, which was approaching. 

He’d been to Ibiza, enjoying the nightlife with the lads, occasionally bringing a random bloke home, but never going all the way, which would have been too stressful; sunbathing at the oddest hours and eating too much. There he’d met Steve, who was lately becoming one of his most trusted confidants. He was such an inspiring, beautiful person, a quiet listener, excellent at giving advice and also the life of the party (he was a DJ, after all).  
Then he’d spent two weeks in Donny, hanging with his friends from home, reconnecting with his roots, baking and watching reality television with him mum, walking through the familiar roads, playing footie and taking care of his younger siblings, gossiping with the girls. Life was good. But, since he was back in London, Harry seemed to be unavoidable. He was fucking his way through France, it seemed. Louis would rather not know.

Still, he felt refreshed, recharged and (almost) ready to go again. He was already discussing an EDM single with Steve, inspired by some though times he’d been through in the beginning of the year. He’d been contacted by the X Factor to be a judge, and it amazed him that he was in the position to actually say no, because Simon Cowell’s pec implants were a ticking bomb and he definitely didn’t want them to explode in his presence and mess up his perfect face. (Well he wouldn’t give this exact motivation, but still).  
Also, he was writing a lot. It didn’t feel like work, it never had, but now more than ever he enjoyed composing and scribbling lyrics on any surface he could find, then seeing it all come together.  
Sure, most of his writing lately was either borderline nympho or angsty as shit, but he liked it (well, most of it).

 

Toward the end of the month, it happened again.

H Styles:  
‘Have u noticed the singer of that song cruel looks like Zayn’

Louis checked the time: it was around 3 am, which meant 4am in France. He also noticed the ‘u’, which didn’t really save much time, in Louis’ opinion, but made him smile nonetheless. The subject was also random at best, which could only lead to one logical conclusion: Harry was probably out of it again. At least, he thought, this didn’t happen often. Or, a nagging voice inside his head suggested, maybe Louis wasn’t the only one he did this with, whatever this was. It was actually quite presumptuous of him to assume so.

Harry texted him again.

‘U asleep ;((( ’

‘Hi Harry. No’

‘Soo hve u noticed lou??’

Louis laughed out loud and typed his reply, ‘Dude Zayn can’t sing to save his life’

‘Dude ♥︎’

‘Literally everything I call you, you turn into a pet name harold’

‘Harold ♥︎’

Louis bit his lip, fingers flying on the touch screen, ‘You’re ridiculous’

‘That song makes me think of u btw’

‘Yeah I got the feeling that was your endgame’ Louis answered, although, in reality, he was sweating up a storm. 

He was familiar with the song, having heard it often since August. Fizzie also had a crush on the singer, who, if Louis was being honest, actually did look like Zayn. It was quite a sensual song, although he was surprised it was Harry’s genre. He supposed he’d heard it clubbing, probably that same evening. 

Harry replied, ‘U did?’

‘Are you in bed Harold?’

‘God yes yes I am lou’ 

‘I meant as in get some sleep’

‘No’

‘You’re being a bad boy. Sleep’

‘Fuck lou fukc u cant say that’

‘HAHA’

‘I hate u’

‘I know’

‘Lou I want u. ur body hurts me looping round like cctv in all this bitterness u stay so sweet’ 

Louis giggled at the screen again. He sent out another text: ‘Ure crazy man’

‘Finally ure typing like a proper human’

‘Sober YOU would disagree’

‘Sober me sucks’

‘Dont say that! why?’

‘He doent have the guts to text u’

‘Why doesn’t he give me a call one of these days’

‘He cant u know hes ashamed’

‘Right. He’s straight, I forgot’

Harry didn’t reply. Louis didn’t sleep well that night.

 

It was the last day of September, and also a Friday. Louis was hosting a small soirée at his place, because Steve was finally in the UK and he wanted him to meet all of his London friends, which meant, at the moment, Perrie, Leigh Anne, Jesy, Jade, Zayn, Liam, Ed and Niall. Louis had told Zayn he could bring the model, although he hated her guts, but Zayn had avoided answering, and now she wasn’t here. Oh well.

The night had been lovely, everyone was relaxed and having fun, finding the most bizarre common interests (apparently, Leigh-Anne and Ed obsessed over the same manga, while Steve discussed with Jesy about why Freud was an overrated scientist, and Zayn and Liam were currently nowhere to be found).

“Hey,” Louis sat on the armrest next to where Jade was sitting, “Need a refill?” he swung a bottle of Jack he was holding, winking seductively. 

“I’d prefer a brownie,” she said, “They’re dope.”

“Quite literally,” Louis giggled, getting up to fetch the tray.

“Who knew our own Ed was an epic baker?” he hip-checked the ginger while passing him.

“Oh, Harry gave me this recipe” Ed said, casually.

(See? He was _everywhere_.)

Louis coughed. “He’s such a perfect ten, uh?” he joked, coming off a bit strangled. Ed had gone back to talking to Jesy and Niall.

“I don’t know him a lot,” Jade replied to him, taking one brownie with each hand. Louis sat again on the armrest, but she patted her legs and he moved to her lap.

She offered him a bite of the brownie from her hand, which he happily took. It was his fourth, but who even cared. At least he was already home.

“Weird…” he said, chewing, (he could hear his mum tell him off for speaking with his mouth full; but he was too baked and drunk to care. Which, well, she would tell him off about this, too).

“What?” Jade asked, poking his tummy.

“Mh?” he took another bite. This shit was good.

“Harry…?” (For such a tiny girl, Jade handled being intoxicated very well – or maybe she had a bit more self-restraint than Louis).

“Harry! He’s so fucking hot. I could eat him out for days. Uh. Shit. But yeah. He fucks every breathing female he meets, so, I guess. I guess…” he’d lost his train of thought and just shrugged, appreciative of the fact that Jade hadn’t so much as flinched at his declaration.

Louis lowered his head, resting it on Jade’s shoulder. She held him while trying to finish her brownie (the other one had been basically devoured by Louis). 

“You smell good, Jadey,” he sniffled, “Vanilla. Once Harry and I made out and everything smelled like vanilla.”

Perrie was sitting next to them, having engaged in a conversation about ecologic haircare with Steve, turned to them, her big eyes even bigger.

“Whaaat?” she asked.

“A lifetime ago,” Louis shrugged. “You shagged him, right?”

“What?! No, I told you! You even asked me!”

“I did?”

Steve laughed, having been listening in. “Is he back to his favourite topic?”

“Harry’s not my favourite topic” Louis exclaimed, indignant. 

Steve laughed, non-judgemental, just genuinely amused.

“He’s not!” Louis repeated.

At that moment, Liam joined them in the living area. 

“Where the fuck were you?!” Louis snapped. “I don’t even care. Let’s open a new topic. Everyone silence please! Liam will now open a new topic of discussion for the sole purpose of our personal entertainment. Please avoid delicate and controversial subjects such as politics, garlic yes or no, religion, kale, our stance on illegal substances,” here, Louis stopped to let out a satisfied chuckle, “Team Cap or team Iron Man, which of the Star Wars prequels sucks the most, cats or dogs and Harry Styles.”

Liam looked at him, dumbfounded, then cackled in that way that was just so him, mouth wide open and eyes closed, “What else is there, man? Dick-shaped washing machines?”

“What?” Louis observed him, “Dick shaped… YOU! You woke me up in the middle of a lovely dream, you asshole! Fucking wanker. Wait… wait.”

The people around them were following the exchange, amused, but some of them had resumed to their previous conversations.

“Wait,” Louis got up from Jade’s lap, stumbling toward his friend with an accusing finger pointed at him, “What were you doing with Zayn… at night?”

A reply was rendered unnecessary by Zayn’s arrival in a state that left no room for doubt.

“Oh God!” Louis exclaimed, dramatically throwing his hands in the air, “Everyone is having sex but me!”

With that, he grabbed his phone from the console at the entrance (first he grabbed Jesy’s, but he found his own immediately after and saluted his guests).

He shut his bedroom’s door, happy to live in a house big enough that his guests wouldn’t be privy to what was about to go on.  
He found quite soon what he was looking for and threw it on the bed as well as the other indispensable supplies.

He flung himself on the bed too, on his belly, rapidly composing a text, before even questioning why. (He knew why).

‘Zayn and Liam are shagging WTF’

Harry’s reply came minutes later. Louis felt stupid for always having his phone close enough, when Harry contacted him, that he replied within seconds. He took a mental note never to do it again.

H Styles:  
‘Aw, that’s cute.’

Proper punctuation. No good. Louis muttered ‘fuck my life’ on the pillow, deciding to go for plan B, which was coincidentally just like plan A, but without Harry on the other side. He was about to grab the lube when his phone vibrated with another text.

H Styles:  
‘How are you spending your Friday night?’ 

Shit shit. Capitalization and all. Abort mission.

But, fuck Louis life again, a new text came in. 

H Styles:  
‘I hope you’re doing okay. With the occasion I apologise for my recent behaviour. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable! I’m still thinking about the song. xx’

Louis was done fighting with himself not to reply.

He typed: ‘No worries man rly’

Harry replied instantly, ‘I’m glad. I get a bit crazy when drunk ;)’

Oh for fuck’s sake. 

‘It’s really not the moment to b serious harold bc I’m about to sit on a dildo and all I can think about is u’

His phone started ringing. Oh no. No no no. This was too much. One thing was a few idiotic texts, one thing was Harry’s voice and his actual (sober) persona listening in and speaking and shit.

Louis picked up, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“‘lo?”

“Louis?” God, Harry and his voice. 

“The man himself,” Louis chuckled nervously.

“Hey… it’s nice to hear from you.”

“Could have called.”

“I am.”

“When we were both sober.”

“It’s easier this way.”

“I guess,” Louis palmed himself. 

Maybe this didn’t need to get weird. Maybe Harry was just worried about him and now they would catch up and he would ignore Louis’ text. After all, Louis had been quite cool with Harry’s weirdness, so he thought he deserved the same treatment. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t multitask, anyway.

Harry had been silent for a few beats. He cleared his throat and spoke again, his voice deep.

“How stoned are you?”

Ok, well, nevermind.

“Oh how the tables have turned,” Louis slurred, “I am indeed very stoned.”

“Did you mean what you just told me?”

Louis pressed the heel of his hand onto himself harder, unbuttoning his jeans with the other. “I did,” he whimpered.

“You know,” Harry said, tone about an octave lower. It made Louis tremble. “I don’t get you. Are you fucking bossy or are you all needy and pliant?”

“Do you mean in bed.”

“Of course I mean in bed.”

“I… I can be both. I’m quite versatile, you know.”

“Nice.”

“Mm,” Louis couldn’t wait anymore, and he uncapped the lube to coat two fingers with it, shuffling out of his jeans and pulling his pants to his knees. He put Harry on speaker and turned around, one cheek flat on the bed, bum in the air.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. He didn’t sound so cool and collected anymore. 

“I’m-” Louis had slid his first finger in and he had to pause to regain some breath, “I’m getting ready.”

“Fuck,” Harry growled.

“Are you touching yourself?” Louis asked.

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“Because… because you make me hot.”

Louis gasped inserting the second finger, pleasure pulsating through him. He eyed the red dildo on a corner of the bed and moaned softly, anticipating how good it would feel, after all that time, how it would fill him up and tear him apart. 

“What will your ladies think?” 

“They- They don’t care,” Harry was starting to pant. Louis loved it. He scissored his fingers and let out another shaky moan. 

“W-why, why did you not reply when we were talking about, ah, s-sober you?”

“What?” 

“Why?”

“Oh, you mean...! Oh, Lou, I was sick, I retched and passed out.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I called now.”

“It’s not fair,” Louis complained, fucking himself on his own three fingers now, “You knew I was out of it.”

Harry stayed silent. 

“You’re right, Lou. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. Please forgive me?”

“Wha-” but before Louis could finish, Harry had hung up. The sound of the free line filled Louis head. Fuck, fuck Harry. He hated him. He was nothing but a ‘confused’ wanker, or a straight but horny fuckboy, or just a stupid fucking annoying asshole. 

Louis fucked himself furiously on the dildo thinking about him.


	8. The one where they sing karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December. Louis performs his last gig before the holidays. Steve is amazing. Louis and Harry have an arrangement, then they have dinner, then a bit too much wine. Harry picks sex songs at karaoke. Louis does too.

December 2016

 

“Man, it was awesome!” Louis hugged Steve tight as soon as they both were backstage, forever thankful to his friend for not wincing at how sweaty he was, “I didn’t expect the crowd to go so wild!”

“It’s all on you, bro,” if anything, Steve only held him tighter. 

“So cool to close my show like that.”

“Yeah, man!” Steve stepped back to look at him, squeezing his shoulders, “Are you ready for your break now?”

“Ah, so ready,” Louis sighed, wistful, “I’m knackered.” 

They reached the dressing room and Louis started changing from his drenched skate tank.

“Someone special waiting for you in London?” Steve asked, sly, as Louis let himself fall on a couch.

“Um, no. My family is coming but like, in three days, I think.”

“Alright.”

“You sound so shocked,” Louis chuckled, “I’m serious.”

Their conversation was cut short by people starting to come in, the whole post-show routine so usual to Louis that he spaced out, as he often did, acting and even speaking based mostly on muscle memory. As this was his last date before the holidays, a small party was being thrown in a private area of the hotel where he was staying.

This is where Louis was a while later. It was chill yet the adrenaline was still rushing, Louis had a joint between his fingers, his friends by his side. It was a beautiful night.

“So,” Steve asked, “How’s Harry?”

How could he do it, it was beyond Louis. He had the kind of sensitivity of a mind reader. He would never push Louis to discuss topics he wasn’t feeling; but he knew when he wanted to bring something up, yet didn’t know how.

“He’s okay,” he replied, his lips pursing in a tiny smile.

Zayn snorted, offended. “What the fuck, man?! I always ask you about him and you always tell me to bugger off.”

Louis’ airy laugh filled the side of the room where they were currently curled up. “You just never ask at the right time.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. 

“So are you going to record now?” he asked then.

“We actually… we decided to do it in the new year. Like, enjoy the holidays and then meet up. We might drop it in the spring or so, like that.”

“Sounds good,” Zayn said and Steve nodded.

“It is,” Louis couldn’t help but smile, “He is.”

“So what changed? I mean, I know you’ve always liked him but lately things seemed… tense?” Zayn scratched the back of his neck, looking away from Louis.

“We have changed, I guess,” Louis shrugged, “We were behaving like kids who can’t keep it in their pants, but it’s like. I don’t know. He’s nice. I like talking to him without complications.”

“Sex doesn’t have to be a complication,” Zayn objected.

He raised an eyebrow at him, extending a flat hand, “Gimme your phone.”

His friend shot him a quizzical look, but obeyed. “Gimme that, you” Zayn made grabby hands at the spliff, and Louis gave it to him without complaints. He was okay for the night.

“Look,” Louis shoved the phone under Zayn’s eyes after having looked up ‘Harry Styles’ on google, “Tell me what you see.”

“Uh, his hair is growing a bit. He looks so soft.”

“And?”

“Isn’t this the girl from Game of Thrones?”

“Yep,” Louis said, satisfied of having proved his point. His stomach twisted a bit, but he’d learned to suppress it over these months of actually talking to Harry, of getting to know the bright, wonderful, charming and occasionally hilarious person he was without thinking about putting his hands on him all the time. (He still did, yeah, in the back of his mind, but none of them was acting on it and, for one, it made everything smoother).

“They look friendly,” Steve noticed, peeping over Zayn’s shoulder. 

“I know,” Louis nodded, “And it’s fine. I don’t want to mess up the friendship that we can build and our professional career because I’m a bit attracted to him.”

Zayn scoffed ‘a bit’ under his breath, shaking his head, but Steve looked at Louis, more serious, “No, what I meant is that they look friendly. As in friends. Just friends. I don’t see a sparkle in his eyes.”

“Ugh, don’t go poetic on me, bro. What are your plans for the holidays, by the way?” Louis swiftly (more or less) changed the subject, going back to enjoying his night. He couldn’t have everything from Harry, but he knew he was getting a call that evening, and that had to be enough.

 

“Hey,” Harry’s low tone greeted him. 

Louis shuffled under the crisp new sheets, sniffing the clean smell that engulfed him as he drew them up to his chin. 

“Hi,” he realised he sounded like he was purring, but he couldn’t be bothered.

Harry seemed to notice though, of course, “You sober?”

“I am, Harold. We have a deal, I would have never picked up otherwise.”

“Good,” (was it normal that Louis could hear someone smile over the phone?), “It has worked quite decently so far, right?”

“Why Harold, I’d say it has worked perfectly, since it was my idea.”

“Okay,” Harry giggled, “Congrats on the end of the tour. Did you manage to do your Christmas shopping eventually?”

“Ugh,” Louis rolled on his belly, “Only online, but I’ve got something for everyone.”

“Great. So, um, when are you back in London?” Harry asked.

“Tomorrow. Why, you there? I thought you went home already.”

“No, um, I. I stayed. A bit.”

Before he could control himself, Louis blurted out, “Dinner and a movie?” 

Harry didn’t waste a second. “My ideal kind if da- Um. Day. Evening. Whatever.”

A smile spread on Louis’ lips, his eyes closing, a pleasant buzz expanding through his body from his tummy. “Yeah… mine too.”

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Harry’s voice was airy, amused.

“Mhm. Not _on_ you, I’d say.” 

Harry coughed. “Right. Um. I should leave you to it then, I don’t want to keep you up.”

“It’s alright. If you don’t mind me falling asleep at some point. I like to hear your voice. Relaxes me.”

“Of course. So, do you want to hear a joke?”

“God, no!”

Harry’s soft chuckle resonated in his head when, a while afterwards, he fell asleep, still talking nonsense on the phone.

 

Dinner went surprisingly well. To be fair, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. 

First off, Harry was an amazing chef, just as skilled in Thai coconut chicken as he’d proven to be with pizza. Normally, Louis would have preferred the pizza. There was just something comforting but the crunchy crust, soft base and the way it all came together, with the slight tanginess of the tomato sauce and the melting mozzarella, the right amount of grease to make it that much better – although to be fair, Harry’s hadn’t been greasy at all. But tonight, it was like his taste buds were experiencing an overload of different, somehow more refined flavours. He’d always thought he hated cilantro but nope, it just complimented the coconut cream and different spices so well, giving the dish a sweet aftertaste, making you feel adventurous, if that’s something a meal can do.

Secondly, Harry was naturally charming, flirtatious without coming on too strong, and genuinely a nice person. They discussed his time on set (he had the funniest story about someone asking him for a caramel macchiato without realising he was one of the actors), Louis’ touring, some ideas on how to promote the song and when to start recording, just after New Year’s; they talked about their holidays, their friends, Harry congratulated him on his “fucking smashing, Lou” new hit that he’d recently dropped with Steve.  
It occurred to Louis that the first time he’d seen him, he’d thought that Harry was a walking contradiction. Now, normally he was someone who could read people quite well; still, Harry remained that to him. He was so easy-going, someone that you can talk to because you feel like they’d never judge you, never speak a foul word about you behind your back. But he was also this sort of out of this world creature, fascinating and aware of it. He gave himself but always kept a bit hidden. He was comfort and he was charm. He was home and he was adventure. 

Finally, they’d smoothly avoided all the ‘complications’ that distance and unsated sexual desires had caused between them months before. He assumed Harry had found ways to satisfy those desires, since the tabloids were all over his numerous relationships, but he still appreciated that they hadn’t mentioned neither those nor their questionable interactions. The best thing was, it didn’t even feel like an elephant in the room. They’d discussed it already on the phone and they’d moved past it, with the whole ‘no talking unless both sober’ deal. Of course, sober Louis still fancied the shit out of Harry, but that was neither here nor there, since Harry clearly didn’t feel the same, but was too polite to spell it out for him (which, thank you very much, no need).  
However, he’d complimented Louis on his new haircut and told him he looked soft in his white jumper; Harry, however, was the softest, with his fluffy hair which was starting to curl behind his ears and oversized Gucci cardigan with tigers on. Still, Louis had some brain-to-mouth filter, unlike his friend, so he’d avoided letting him know. 

While indulging in his (probably food induced) meditations, Louis’ eyes almost fell shut. There was just something easy and pleasing about being there, perched on a stool around Harry’s kitchen island, where, this time, the table had been set, just as impeccably as the one in the main room months before. He felt safe, warm, and like he could just strip and put on sweats and crawl into bed, preferably after a bubble bath. He felt at ease. At home. 

He was jolted back to his surroundings by Harry’s gruff voice. “I made pie.”

 _Oh Lord just fuck me already_.

Cough. “Sick. Which kind?”

“Spiced apple. There’s caramel too.”

 _Alright no, marry me first_.

“It’s, uh, it’s my favourite. Me nan used to make it all the time.”

Harry smiled, almost timidly, glancing down where his mitten-clad hands were holding the perfectly golden and heavenly smelling pie.

“I know,” he whispered.

Louis blinked at him twice, “You do?”

“You mentioned it, like, when we got high. At the BRITs.”

Louis felt like he had been kicked in the gut yet held in a bear hug at the same time. He probably looked like he couldn’t quite grasp the combination, which was true, because Harry’s eyes shifted to him again and his tiny, soft smile widened a bit, the threat of the dimple haunting Louis. Fuck him, if Harry’s smile wasn’t the most splendid thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

“You want to eat it on the sofa?” Harry’s head tilted to the living room.

“Of course, yeah,” Louis jumped off the stool and they settled on the couch, Louis taking the same spot he’d occupied the previous time, when Harry had played him the song. It was weirdly as if a lifetime but also two mere minutes had passed since then.

Harry sat closer to him, at least mercifully sparing him the whole ‘you can come closer’ ordeal. This time, Louis wouldn’t have lasted one minute. 

Harry had brought two porcelain cocottes and he spooned the dessert in them, handing the first one, generously filled, to Louis.

The sweet and spicy smell filled his nostrils, taking him back to winter in Doncaster, to bruised knees and a broken lip because Stan had thrown him a book (by mistake, he promised), to being ten and bike rides and Donny dome and late nights talking to his nan eating pie like there was no tomorrow. It’s insane how a small sensation can take you back not only to a different place, but to feeling like you did back then. You can be a kid again. You smell orange blossom and suddenly you’re on your first holiday alone with your friends, before the fame, before you visited the most exotic and fancy places. You can have your first crush make your stomach flip as if you were a thirteen-year-old boy who didn’t get why he found the footie captain hotter than the Hollywood actress everyone was on about. A fleeting sensation and you can fall in love for the first time, a hundred times. Not that Louis had ever, you know. Been in love and all that.

He took a spoonful of the pudding and clearly the taste was even better. He managed not to let out an orgasmic moan, this time, which he was very pleased about, especially since he already felt his cheeks heating under Harry’s stare. He thought it’d be nice to say something instead of just stuffing his face with buttery apples.

“Mate, this is the best.”

Harry ducked his head modestly, but met his eyes, “Thanks. Glad you like it”

“Wanna watch something?” Louis asked, “Or should we discuss, um, ‘What a feeling’?”

Harry’s smile widened, Louis resisted the urge to poke his dimple. “What?” he asked instead, with a light laugh, because Harry was giving him a funny look.

“It’s nice to hear you say that. Like, the name of the song.”

“It’s a nice song.”

_It’s an amazing song, deserves all the Grammys and a Nobel for peace and I’d probably tattoo it on my skin if it wasn’t about some lovely girl you’re watching dance through a fucking wire, whatever the hell that means._

“Do you have any ideas for the music?”

Louis nodded. He’d thought about the song more often than he would have admitted. “I mean, it is your song, but, I was thinking a feel good kind of vibe? A bit of Fleetwood in there? Something a touch nostalgic?”

Harry’s eyes were wide and he was beaming, it was almost blinding. Louis distracted himself with the pie.

“That sounds perfect. And it isn’t my song. It’s ours,” Harry noted.

To ease the tension that, probably, he was only sensing himself, Louis threw his head back and sing-songed, “Our song is the slamming screen door, sneaking out late, tappin’ on your window.”

Harry burst in one of his high pitched, uncontrollable laughs. 

“Old school Taylor! My favourite!” he exclaimed.

Louis nodded happily, “Right?!”

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. Wanna karaoke? Like, instead of the film. I think it’ll also be useful for when we record.”

Louis looked at him, amused by his enthusiasm.

“Bring it, Styles.” 

Once everything was set up, they began with Touch and go, one of Harry’s personal favourites from Ed. Of course, they weren’t him, but quite honestly, their voices sounded pretty amazing, harmonizing and melding together perfectly although most of it was just for laughs. 

Some of the lyrics stuck with Louis. 

Like when Harry looked him in the eyes, crooning ‘It's kinda rough, cause since I met you, there's things we've never said’

He shrugged it off, but some stuff still resonated with him once they were done.

_So if I go for a little while longer,_  
_when I'm home we can talk about the big falls of the road_  
_If you say go, I would stop everything oh, my heart would play the role now_  
_and act like it's never been broke, though my soul_  
_Oh, oh, oh lately I really need to know,_  
_how long, how long, can we be touch and go?_

Despite their sobriety rule, they’d still enjoyed a couple glasses of some fine French wine over dinner. Somehow, the bottle made its way to the coffee table and was soon joined by a new one.

At some point, after some more wine, some Halsey (“Your voice is perfect for her, fucking hell, Lou”) and a bit of 1975 (“Please, H, let’s record it and send it to that shithead Matty, I swear he’s gonna love it!”), Louis started to think that Harry was messing with him.

He laughed hysterically at the next song that Harry selected to appear on the flat screen, “Two become one?!”

They were standing in front of the sofa. Harry owned a fancy karaoke system that contained every existing song, it seemed, and added soothing visual effects behind the lyrics. 

Harry looked at him, serious, “It’s a classic. But of course, if you think you can’t handle it…” he shrugged.

“Come a little bit closer baby, get it on, get it on” Louis tried to sing, but mostly just chuckled.

Harry did come closer. Alright.

They managed the song without mishaps, eventually. 

“Do you know Dua Lipa?” Harry asked, as he scrolled to find the next song.

“A bit. I know her boyfriend. Sick chef.”

Harry sent him a puzzled look. 

“Her boyfriend, Harold! Who do you take me for?!”

Harry giggled and chugged a good gulp from the bottle, as he started the song.

Louis read the title and swallowed the lump in his throat. Alright again. If this was how Harry wanted to play.

“I’ll start,” Louis stated, then started singing. _“He calls me the devil, I make him wanna sin. Every time I knock, he can't help but let me in. Must be homesick for the real, I'm the realest it gets. You probably still adore me with my hands around your neck.”_

Harry positively shuddered at that. 

Louis didn’t know what to make of it, was probably too drunk and high on adrenaline to even worry about anything but the fact that he was having fun, so he gave Harry the next lines and grabbed the wine himself. 

_Cause we're hot like hell_  
_Does it burn when I'm not there?_  
_When you're by yourself_  
_Am I the answer to your prayers?_  
_I'm giving you that pleasure heaven_  
_And I'll give it to you_  
_Hotter than hell_

“So what’s next, ‘I want your sex’?!” Louis exclaimed once this heated performance of Harry drooling on the mic while looking at him was over. Harry panting the bridge of this song had almost had him whimper, but he felt quite proud of how he had handled himself.

Harry didn’t even bother to look offended at the fact that Louis was onto him. “I was thinking ‘Private show’? I’m digging Little Mix’ new album”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Absolutely not. As much as I love the girls. I won’t sing about giving you a lap dance or something. You’re impossible and I’m picking the next one!”

“Suit yourself.”

“How about some classic Lana?” Louis smirked. It was all in good fun. They were drunkish by now, but they weren’t dry humping on the sofa, which he considered as a win. It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to rile Harry up, okay, but Lana’s voice was perfect for Louis himself to sing on and he wanted to put on a show.

“Lana always worked for us.” Harry flashed him a smug grin.

A bit more wine and Louis was ready to go.

Harry had sat on the sofa, one ankle crossed on his knee, the dangling foot keeping the rhythm. 

“You just take this one. I like to watch.”

He leaned back and Louis was just enjoying himself, Harry mindlessly listening, glancing at him, one hand behind his head, but at the first chorus he seemed to stir up.

 _“Fuck yeah, give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want,”_ Louis was singing, before laughing devilishly. 

Harry was red and bothered under the dim lights. Served him right. 

However, for how arousing his could be – it fucking was, yes – Louis was set on not ruining stuff between them. The movingly romantic lyrics of Harry’s song still liked to haunt him, sometimes, especially now that they were finally about to start recording. Even if Harry apparently didn’t mind cock, he was still a womanizer and, most importantly, he was still in love with someone else.  
Normally, Louis wouldn’t have given a damn. A good shag and that would have been it. He did have a serious crush on this lanky one, though. So he wouldn’t give in to satisfying their needs when in the end only he would be the one to, as Zayn had put it, get burned. 

Instead, he cut the song short and went to the kitchen, Harry turning on the sofa to follow him with his eyes, a bit dumbfounded.

Louis came back with a glass of water with ice.

“Thought you might need this,” he raised his eyebrows once, mischievously.

“God, I hate you so much,” Harry’s voice was rougher than usual, but not mean. He took the glass Louis was handing him and had a sip.

Louis circled the sofa to retrieve his shoes, which must have got lost somewhere between the furry rug and the coffee table. 

Harry, however, seemed to have other plans, leaning to grab him by the waist with one arm and effortlessly throwing Louis on himself. 

Louis exhaled a surprised ‘oof’ as he landed on Harry’s lap, his nose in the man’s hair.

Harry snuggled him, nuzzling his neck with the tip of his nose, which was cold, which was why Louis shuddered. No other reason. He also thanked God that he wasn’t exactly on Harry’s crotch, and rearranged himself on the sofa seat instead that on his friend’s body in order to avoid that, bending his knees to his chest as some kind of barrier. Harry’s arm had to let him go, sliding from his waist to the backrest. Still, their faces were close.

“Cuddle. Nap,” Harry pouted behind his ear. “Please.”

Apparently, the wine and everything had caught up with him now. It was well past midnight, Louis had seen it on the oven’s clock when he’d been into the kitchen. He baffled him how time seemed to fly when he was with Harry. He was easy and complex at the same time. Comfort and charm, he thought again. He felt like home and like going on a crazy adventure. 

Louis let his body go limp next to Harry’s, one of the man’s hands brushing his shoulder. Louis gripped his shirt and scooted closer, Harry’s other arm enveloping him. Their eyes closed.  
Suddenly, Louis was incredibly tired too. All that singing and actively trying not to get hard as Harry crooned the sexiest lyrics side-glancing (or directly staring) at him. And the wine. And the food.

“You’re like… you’re like pizza and classy thai food,” he mumbled, before drifting into a light but easy sleep, populated by lyrics and faint lights and the smell of apples and the smell of Harry.

_All we do is drive_  
_All we do is think about the feelings that we hide_  
_All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign_  
_Sick and full of pride_  
_All we do is drive_

_When we go down right there_  
_You make me feel right there_  
_When you lay me down right there_  
_We just make it right there_  
_Cause you're looking so right there_  
_Baby you should touch me right there_  
_You can take me right there_  
_We can make it_  


_It’s just you and I tonight, why don’t you figure my heart out?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lyrics mentioned come from these songs:  
> \- our song by taylor swift  
> \- touch & go by ed sheeran  
> \- 2 become one by spice girls  
> \- hotter than hell by dua lipa  
> \- gods & monsters by lana del rey  
> \- hotter than hell (again in the ending)  
> \- heart out by the 1975
> 
> this is a bit short but i hope it sets the mood for their bittersweet and sexually tense (is this a term?) but also like not very angsty anymore since they obviously like each other so i wanted to create something sweet. i hope i managed and i hope you like it :**


	9. The one where they start recording

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> January 2017. Louis and Harry start recording but then Louis has to travel again. They hold each other a lot. Louis comes moaning Harry's name. Things are left unsaid. Harry must be in love, but who with? Louis sheds one tiny tear. Everybody loves sushi.

January 2017

The first studio session was spent mainly handling music and arrangements; Harry’s eyes sparkled when the tempo came to life, nodding, pleased, to the thumping bass. 

Louis’ eyes sparkled when he looked at Harry and he knew it showed, and everybody who was in the room with them knew. No one commented, though, and the day was over before Louis could even notice that the sun was going down.

Once Jamie, the producer, had left the studio with his friend Mike, they were alone.

Harry was sprawled on the couch, ankles on one of the armrests and head on the other. Louis sat on the floor, leaning on the wall across from him. This was his favourite part, as the day slowly faded away and the long hours spent working started catching up with him, his stomach coming alive after only having munched on snacks, always too focused to properly eat; his eyes started burning a bit because he should have seen his eye doctor to review his prescription; his head was filled with what he’d done but also with what he had planned for the future sessions, lyrics and notes and changes swirling through his mind. This was the most inspired he could usually get, just when the scheduled time was officially over. It was then that, at times, his brain started buzzing, amidst the haze, the tiredness, the confusion, it was always in these moments that he would have that one bright intuition and scribble a new lyric on a stray piece of paper or on his phone, or fish for the sheets to make a few changes to the music.  
Other times he would just feel appreciative of all his surroundings and his job and his life. He lived for this. Not the pap walks, the gossip, the twitter fights. Not even the money, the hotels, the tattoos… He pulled out his phone to quickly type something. 

When he looked up, Harry was turned to him, his cheek squished on the armrest and messy flat on that side of his face, tall on the other. He looked so young and almost tiny, his white t-shirt rising up his left hip to expose one of his laurel tattoos. Louis was familiar with those thanks to numerous yacht holidays (that Harry had taken with his numerous ladies, clearly, not with him), but the sight still caused him to startle imperceptibly. 

“Hey,” Harry called him, softly, mouth pursing from the way one side of his face was smashed on the sofa. He was impossibly cute and, after today, Louis felt ridiculously close to saying that he adored him. Who was he even kidding: he did adore him. Harry was mesmerizing, brilliant, professional, insightful and opinionated; he had eagerly included all of Louis’ ideas and he’d looked at him in a rapt way that had made him feel worth a million pounds. He was a star but he was humble, receptive, he valued everyone's opinion and he seemed to particularly care about Louis’. It was like he couldn’t even see that he was the fucking sunshine in the room. And now, here he was, a sleepy baby, curled on a side, looking at Louis with hooded green, green eyes.

Louis couldn’t help but smile, “Hey.”

“This was good,” Harry murmured.

Louis nodded, pocketing his phone and sliding his feet on the floor so he could hold his knees. “It was.”

“I can’t wait to record vocals,” Harry continued, through a big yawn that he covered with the back of his hand, his body stretching, the laurel even more exposed.

“You falling asleep on me?” Louis chuckled, mimicking something that Harry might have told him a while back.

Harry pouted. “Not _on_ you.” 

Louis smiled, “That’s my line.”

“Well it’s not even that fitting anymore.”

“That was one time, Harold!” Louis exclaimed, getting up. “Are you gonna hold it against me forever?”

“Mmh,” Harry nodded, closing his eyes and shuffling on the sofa as he’d read Louis’ mind. “I didn’t mind at all,” he added, raising an arm as Louis slid next to him, squeezing himself in the tiny space, his front to Harry’s.  
Harry’s arm landed on his back and pulled them even closer.

Louis closed his eyes; his fists and forehead on Harry’s shirt, which he had now noticed being slightly see-through. 

“Hey,” Harry’s voice had that vibrating undertone that indicated that he was already laughing in his head about something. He’d probably come up with the lamest joke. 

Louis smiled, endeared, against his tee. “Yes?”

“Do you want me to hold something against you?” Harry’s voice cracked with self-satisfied giggles.

“That’s it,” Louis pushed himself away from him, pretending to struggle against Harry’s strong arm that drew him back in. “You’re the worst! Let me go!” but he’d already slumped back against him.

“You loved it,” Harry laughed, his body shaking with it against Louis’. 

Their ankles tangled.

“I’ve had worse,” Louis admitted, then added, “Namely, from you.” 

“Right,” Harry chuckled, resting his chin on the top of Louis’ head.

Louis hummed contentedly and they stayed silent for a while, taking each other in, feeling suspended in time and space, as twilight painted the sky outside with lilac and indigo.

“H,” Louis mumbled after some time. Harry’s skin smelled like man and the usual Tom Ford. More like man though. Louis was inebriated. “Wanna grab dinner?”

He felt Harry tense a bit, but none of them moved. 

“I… I can’t, Lou.”

“Oh. It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Louis shifted his body and tilted his head back, stretching his neck to disentangle himself from Harry and look at him. Even such a small movement felt like a huge commotion after how comfortably they’d stayed still; he hit his nose on Harry’s chin and then almost kissed it continuing the motion. 

Harry just gave him an amused smile, “You okay?”

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Louis massaged his nose with one hand, as the other involuntarily closing on Harry’s shirt. He met his eyes, and even though his neck wasn’t exactly comfortable, it was well worth it. “However. You sounded a bit serious just now. Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, yes,” Harry moved a bit so they could be face to face more easily. Their shins crossed, but there was still some space between their crotches, probably just a sliver of air, Louis assumed, but he didn’t feel like checking. 

“You look a bit serious,” Louis insisted, actively fighting his instinct to caress Harry’s baby face.

“I’m a serious person.” 

Louis raised an eyebrow, “Nice try.”

“I just have something to do and I’m sad that you’re touring again so we can’t meet for some time.”

“It’s just like two weeks,” Louis assured him, “I’m in Europe anyway, so same time zone. As soon as I’m back in the UK you’ll never get rid of me.”

“You always leave.” Harry complained.

“What?” Louis chuckled, poking between his ribs and causing him to squirm.

“You left the other night,” Harry whispered, sounding wounded and playful at once before closing his eyes. 

“I had to, babe.”

Harry keened at the pet name that had escaped Louis’ lips, holding him tighter and pressing their foreheads together.

Louis almost whimpered. He brought his free arm around Harry’s shoulder and squeezed him tight for a couple seconds, before releasing, but keeping his arm there. They both exhaled breaths that were slightly too heavy, or too shaky.

“It was a good nap though, right?” Louis added.

Harry nodded, Louis’ face moving a bit with his, for how close they were.

“I wish I could be with you always,” Harry whispered.

At this point, Louis had to pull back a bit. Harry’s breath was too warm and his eyelashes too black, fanning over his perfect cheekbone. “I’m sure you have a lot of people who want to share your time, mate.”

Harry held on to him. “Oh I’m sure of it. That’s not what I said, though,” he replied, borderline harsh.

“Let’s not talk for a while, okay?” Louis said, inconsequentially, “Let’s relax until you have to go.”

Harry didn’t reply. 

“Okay, H? Do you want me to go now?”

“No!”

“Okay,” Louis caressed his shoulders and Harry’s grip relaxed, “Okay.”

 

Louis was fidgeting through the whole flight from Paris to London. From his seat next to him, Zayn was giving him his best know-it-all look, but had generously abstained from commenting.

He got there creatively, this Louis had to admit. To be more specific, as they were about to land, he turned to Louis and asked, calmly, “Did you shoot something this morning, babe?” 

“No, why would I?” he snapped. Which, okay, it didn’t exactly portray the collected attitude he was going for.

“You look… uh, did Luke edge you or something?”

Creativity was bordering on insanity now.

“WHAT?!”

“Come on, I know you shagged him last week. The whole Brussels heard.”

“I didn’t- Uh, I didn’t _shag_ him, thank you very much. I just had to come down somehow. He was… helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shit makes you horny, I feel that. Still sad you’ve never even tried to give me a hit.”

“Quite sure I have, at some point,” Louis noted. “We were probably too smashed to get it up. It’s better this way, right?”

“Of course,” Zayn agreed, looking at him as if he expected him to go on. 

(He knew him well, that much was established).

“You shouldn’t shag your friends,” Louis added, nodding seriously.

“Debatable.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean! Are you hitting on me?! Aren’t you and Liam…?”

“I’m not, you cunt. And yes. We’re texting and all. He’s cute.”

“Nice” Louis rolled his eyes, pushing his snapback forcefully over them.

“Is this conversation over?”

Louis scoffed. “Of course.”

“Fine. Not like I heard you calling out for Harry as you, uh, didn’t shag Luke.”

“If you must know,” Louis turned to him with such haste that his neck cracked. Good, because he knew Zayn hated this sound. “If you really must know, he blew me. That’s it. I had overdone it before getting on stage and I was out of it and he’s ‘hot Luke’ for a reason.”

“I thought he was straight,” Zayn shrugged.

At this point, Louis couldn’t keep serious. “I think he is.” 

They shared a laugh, but Louis knew that one topic hadn’t been dropped. Too bad that being on a plane made it harder for him to escape. He hated telling people they were right.

“Was he mad that you were using him pretending he was someone else?”

“Z, he got to suck me off. He was as happy as one can be.”

Zayn pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stay serious. 

“No further comment on the Harry situation?”

“He’s back with the model chick,” Louis just said, sounding more broken than he’d wished for. “Gigi’s friend.”

“Funny how you remember the name of a girl I slept with months ago and not her friend’s name, which you must have read in the paper about ten times these past two weeks.”

“Fuck you, lad.”

“I’m just saying,” Zayn’s tone was quieter, like the one you use to reason with a baby, and Louis didn’t like it one bit, “I think you’re misunderstanding something here. Either Harry’s an asshole, because your relationship is fucked up and he likes to fluster you and then go back to his birds-”

“Yes,” Louis muttered, even though, if he was being true to himself, he sounded way angrier than he felt. 

He leaned on the sit and closed his eyes, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Yes, _or_ ,” Zayn kept on, gracefully ignoring him, “He’s not with that girl. I mean, you told me you had a good sesh at the studio and then you… napped together and you had drool all over your shirt to prove. I was the one who had to load the laundry, so I know. Then, the same evening, he went to dinner with K- uh, with her?”

Louis didn’t move, nor did he open his eyes. “Yes.”

“Look. I’m not saying this cannot happen. You had some guy blow you while you’re clearly in love with-”

“Woah, woah!” Louis snapped to look at him, “Easy on the words, my guy.”

Zayn sighed heavily, “Look, we’re about to land. Whatever, okay?”

Louis nodded. He chewed on some gum to avoid the annoying pain in his ears. After about five minutes, he caved in.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to his friend, “Finish what you were saying. I know you’ve finished it in your head. I could almost hear the hamster run on its little wheel.”

“Fuck, man. I was saying… even if he did go out with her, it doesn’t mean it’s serious. He’s kind of a womanizer and apparently he wouldn’t mind dick either. But he’s sweet and kind with _you_. I mean, you’ve been there. PR relationships everywhere.”

“I know,” Louis swallowed. It was time to let it all out, then. He’d only been this truthful to Steve, because Steve was older and wiser and honestly plain irresistible. “But there’s the song.”

Zayn scrunched his nose. “The song?”

“It’s a love song.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. It’s so deep and beautiful. It’s about someone you’re not always with, like, sometimes it’s just your memories and shit. You can’t touch them. But when you’re next to them you feel like… uh, amazing. Like a king.”

“I see.” 

When Zayn didn’t continue, Louis did. It was all out anyways, at this point. So much for ‘try not to get burned’. 

“I didn’t know who it could be about but it’s clearly about some girl with a dress and shit. So maybe it’s even her. I don’t know. He always goes back to her, it seems?!”

Zayn leaned his head on his shoulder. “That sucks.”

Louis shrugged, “It’s okay. I told you, we’re friends. And, before you say something else, Brussels was an accident. I was doped and I’ll moan your name next time, so you’ll be happy and see it doesn’t mean shit.”

Zayn laughed, and the topic was officially discarded, Louis feeling lighter than he’d thought. 

 

The day after he’d arrived in London, he finally had studio time with Harry again.  
They hadn’t spoken a lot the past two weeks, mainly because Louis had got upset over the pap pics, the night after the first studio day, and he’d texted Harry a few days later, after his first gig, telling him he was out of it and it was best if they didn’t talk on the phone. He’d dragged Luke, one of the tour assistants, into his room. Harry had replied something like ‘ok, waiting for you then’ but then Louis had been busy and often high and, when none of the above, definitely very tired.

Around a week later, Harry had texted him nonetheless.

H:  
‘Eating pizza and missing you. You said something about me being pizza once, I think? Or was it a dream? Have a nice performance lou. xx’

Louis had just replied, ‘must have been a dream harold…’ and he hadn’t heard from him for another four or five days, when Harry had texted him again.

H:  
‘You’re back on thursday, right? Booked studio for the 20. Cant wait to hear the vocals! And to see you, if I’m honest’

Louis had replied, ‘When aren’t u honest babe’, getting a ‘♥’ in return. 

Which led him to now, running in Harry’s arms like a lunatic, positively jumping on him and wrapping his legs around his waist. Harry didn’t even falter, laughing in his ear and holding him tight.

“I can’t even be mad at you, that’s stupid,” Louis said, regaining his composure – as in, putting his feet on the floor. 

“Why would you be mad at me?!” Harry inquired, his hands still on Louis’ arms, sliding to his elbows.

Good question.

“You’re a curly haired cunt, that’s why,” Louis shrugged.

Harry guffawed and let him go, just as the Jamie and two other guys walked in. 

“Ready for some vocals?” one of them asked, going to shake Louis’ hand. “I’m Mike. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Ready as ever. How do we do it?” 

Jamie intervened. “You could sing the whole thing alone so we can hear you on every lyric. But also, if you have some lyric you’ve thought for one of you specifically…” he glanced at Harry.

“Of course,” the third guy chimed in, “We have our own ideas. But we want to hear and actually see, ya feel?”

Both him and Harry agreed. They would mainly do this today, then record some of their solo lines, proceeding to the harmonies later, probably in another session. Louis was cool with dragging the whole process as long as they could.  
He loved the song and he wanted it to turn out flawless. Speaking on which… “Hey,” Harry’s palm was heavy and warm on his shoulder, “Wanna go in first?”

He shook his head weakly, “You go, babe.” 

Harry bit his lip. (Louis should have bitten his tongue, but this endearment came out so naturally, by now, and it felt very different than when Zayn used it on him. But yeah. Probably was because of this, he thought; he should tell Zayn to call him your majesty or something, just to avoid being influenced).

Harry had settled himself in the recording room, while Louis sat on an armchair, listening to his gravelly, yet limpid voice croon to the beautiful lyrics he’d written, accompanied by the idea of the music that Louis himself had composed.

When Harry reached the bridge, Louis eyes were watery and he had to quickly blink numerous times.  
Harry sang from his heart and from his gut, voice full and clear yet drenched with so much pain and meaning, _whatever chains are holding you back, holding you back_ … it all came from deep within him and Louis felt overwhelmed, much like he had the first time Harry had played him the song, as if this was something too pure and wonderful and personal and he shouldn’t have had witnessed it.

Harry was stepping away from the mic now, listening to something his collaborators had to say.  
Once he’d wrapped his own part up, but before he stepped back into the room where Louis and the other were staying, Louis grabbed Jamie by the arm. “Harry should have the bridge,” he asserted, before greeting his friend with a crinkly eyed smile, that hopefully masked the fact that he’d been on the brink of tearing up.

Harry patted his shoulder passing him by; Louis reached his spot, putting headphones on and getting ready to sing. Normally, he would feel self-conscious, he still was like that about his voice. He knew it was unique, raspier and lighter than the classic pop voices. He knew it gave him something more and added depth to his work. But still. Louis had always been extremely critical toward himself, tending to hate what he knew that, in reality, probably set him apart. Normally, Harry’s presence would have made him feel even more jittery and set for failure, especially after seeing how effortlessly he’d carried out his part.  
So maybe today wasn’t normal, or maybe Louis wasn’t normal, because under Harry’s interested, but not prying gaze, he felt as confident as he could ever be.

And he sang like it.

“Woah,” Harry hugged him as he reached him again, after he was done, “I think I might let you have the whole song. I got chills.”

“Don’t be silly,” he chuckled, a bit embarrassed, his arms still around Harry’s neck, where they seemed to fit so well. “I might have shed a single tear listening to you.”

Harry’s hands curled on his t-shirt, were they were holding him dangerously low. “A single one,” he teased him.

Louis shrugged, “I’m a tough guy. It takes a lot to make me tear up.” 

Harry glanced at him through his eyelashes, pursing his lips, “Oh, yes?” 

“Fuck’s sake, you have a dirty mind!”

“Then why are you still holding me?”

“Fucking menace,” Louis shook his head, letting go of Harry’s embrace slowly and reluctantly.

Jamie cleared his throat. “We’ll… uh. We’ll leave you to it?”

“To what?!” Louis exclaimed, just as Harry blurted out “Thanks”

They glanced at each other and Harry shook his head, reaching Jamie. “No, man, sorry. Let’s try and sort this out, yeah?”

Louis nodded and they sat around, discussion tonalities and who should sing what and what Harry exactly meant with some particular passage. Most of it went smoothly – Harry would sing the verses, Louis the pre-chorus; they tried different harmonies for the chorus itself, and there was no denying everyone in the room was amazed at how well their voices worked together, complimenting and completing one another. The only bumps on the road were represented by the comments that would at times escape someone’s lips, about how Harry would want a certain lyric to sound, about what he meant with a certain word.  
Those lyrics deserved a fucking award, alright, but it made Louis want to get up and chain-smoke a thousand cigarettes when the discourse was brought up. how quietly Harry would answer, as if his words were flower petals carried by the wind, and the people who got to reach them had to be extra careful to grasp them, not to break them. _It’s… wistful, I think. ‘Everybody needs someone around’, like… Everybody does, right? It’s not that deep_. Oh, but it is. _Louis will get it when he sings it. He already does_.

Every time he laid his eyes on one lyric in particular, Louis heart filled up with light, or it downright broke, or both. There was just so much beauty and sense and it was some sort of sensory overload. This is my favourite, he thought, but then, no – this one. But wait. You’ve got stars in your eyes. God. He looked at Harry, his big lips and bony large hands with that cross tattoo Louis was particularly fond of. How did he look good in olive green. What a feeling to be a king beside you, somehow… Louis found himself sighing deeply or shaking faintly more than once. He was smoking a lot but nobody seemed to mind, the vocal guy, Mike, had joined him soon.  
Harry had taken a couple drags from his cigarette, Louis’ fingers burning when they’d touched Harry’s, the first time. He’d just had Louis hold the cigarette on his lips, the second time. He hadn’t asked, there was no need for that. It was in the air and in his eyes and Louis had obliged happily, hypnotized by the smoke and the slow inhaling that caused Harry’s chest to move and the fact that his irises looked almost grass green with the light hitting them just right, from a side.

“Should we call it a day?” Jamie suddenly asked. Well, probably it wasn’t all that sudden, it’s just that Louis had been busy trying to compile a mental catalogue of every shade of Harry’s eyes. 

“Sure, lads, I’m knackered,” Louis wasn’t exactly lying. He’d recorded some of his individual lines, they’d perfected the music, they’d talked. He’d thoroughly looked at and fantasized about Harry’s fingers. He’d smoked more than half a twenty. He’d watched Harry record. He’d noted down some lyrics he himself was coming up with. He’d wondered how Harry’s teeth could be so white. They’d messed around with some ideas for the production. He’d wondered who could inspire Harry’s beautiful soul to write something so poetic.  
So yeah. Overall, he was tired. 

Somehow, though, he was also lying. Because a part of him was longing for more, for a new part of the evening, for his favourite time of the day to come. When he would be alone with Harry. Then, anything would be okay. Sitting in silence, talking for hours. Not talking, but not sitting. Not in silence. Maybe Harry would push him against the wall and rub himself on him just like Louis wanted. Maybe they would share a joint and a laugh and wonder what could have been. It was such a sweet pain to drown in, he thought, like stumbling in the dark. He picked up his phone and opened his notes to write something down. Absent-mindedly but politely he waved and hugged the lads goodbye, thanking them for a great session. Maybe Harry could beg him to stay, touch him just right, softly, this time, because he was in a mood, because he felt like being delicate and romantic, like being caressed and holding Harry tight whispering sweet nothings in his ear and opening his mouth with his own to feel his warm tongue and cold hands and firm chest and-

“What are you thinking about?” 

Taken by surprise, Louis turned to Harry. “You.”

Harry scrunched his nose (Louis wanted to die and snog him senseless), running a hand through his hair, where tiny curls were blossoming like flowers in the spring. They were both standing by the door, since the others had just left them, and Harry was getting some texts, Louis could hear the vibration and it bothered him more than he would have admitted.

“How do you feel about sushi?” Harry asked.

“Uh… Like I need to have a lot to be full. Otherwise I’ll just order pizza two hours later.”

Harry bit his lip, snorting a tiny laugh through his nose. “I have to meet my sister. You remember her, right? I can’t ditch her to be with you but I… kinda want to?”

“If anything, I’ll ditch you to be with her! Your sister is amazing, Harold. I’ve missed that crazy bitch long time, she's my favourite Styles!”

Harry rolled his eyes, opening the door to let Louis out first. “I figured.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeya :) i'm updating a lot lately as i've got some time on my hands and often need to be distracted from real life drama. i have the feeling that this chapter is pretty uneventful but i'm hoping it sets the climate for what's become of them at this point. also, i don't know much about recording but i don't think it takes lots of sessions, so i needed to make the few they have meaningful even when they're not even alone etc. i hope you guys like this. :*


	10. The one where it's Harry's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February 2017. Harry has a party. Louis has a hard on. Things happen.

February 2017

It was the first day of February and, apparently, it was Harry’s birthday. Louis was fairly certain he’d wished him a happy birthday before, probably no more than a tweet or two over the years, seeing other colleagues do so. However, it baffled him how he could have gone on with his life forgetting about it, not being invited to Harry’s birthday bash, not stressing about the fact that he’d recently trimmed his hair again, wondering if he should had shaved (too late for that), if his lightning bolt t-shirt was too laid back for a fashionista like Harry, even if he’d said that it was a casual thing and to _just be there, Lou, you’ll look better than anyone else_ , and hoping that Harry would like his gift even if it was just a stupid gold bracelet with an anchor on it, because Louis was unhealthily obsessed with Harry’s wrists.

Now was not the time to stress about any of this, however, since the lift was opening and he and Zayn were now walking into Harry’s flat.

Platinum blonde hair was in his eyes and mouth and he was being squeezed by an overexcited Gemma before he could even make out who else was there, or if Harry had set up the place some way, or what Harry was wearing or just _Harry_.

“Heyyy! I can’t believe I get to see you three times in like ten days!” she exclaimed, freeing him from her embrace. “I should visit the bro more often.”

“Right?” Louis smiled, “It was cool of you to come hear us record the other day, too.”

She shrugged, “I’m actually sorry about that. Third wheel as fuck.”

Louis blushed furiously, “What? No, no, uh-”

“Hey, Gemma,” Zayn intruded (God bless him). 

They probably started making conversation, but Louis’ line of vision was behind them, where Harry had appeared.  
He was wearing a silky printed shirt, oversized and barely held together by two or three buttons. He raised a hand to wave at him, quirking his lips in a smile, but – of fucking course – Harry was assaulted by Alexa Chung holding one magnum sized bottle of champagne in each of her skeleton hands (kudos for her strength, however). She yelled something and dragged him out of sight, probably toward the kitchen.

Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was not like he was a special guest of any sort. He decided to go mingle and not give a damn about the fact that, when they weren’t alone, when girls whom he didn’t share blood with were around, Harry wasn’t his to claim. Not like he was in the other scenario, but still. They’d had another studio session, the one Gemma had been to, and it was just… good. Chill. They worked so well together and the atmosphere around them thrived with it. The song was coming out great and everyone felt the anticipation, everyone they worked with seemed the benefit from their positive vibes, being relaxed and passionate, and Harry would always sit too close to him, which he didn’t mind at all. 

But, this wasn’t work. This was Harry. His life, his glamorous London crew, so different from the people Louis usually hung with, even though he probably knew most of the attendants anyway. He stepped into the living area and looked around to see if he could spot someone that was not only familiar, but also maybe kind of nice; he saw Niall, but he was taking shots with Ellie, and he wouldn’t cockblock him like that. Liam was in LA (Louis knew because Zayn wouldn’t stop moping about it). 

‘Somebody else’ by the 1975 started playing just as Louis made out Matty, coming from the kitchen with two shots in his hands.

“Unbelievable!” Louis laughed, waving at him, “What an entrance!”

“I don’t even know what the fuck you’re on about, Tommo. But, have a shot.” 

“Aw, for me?” he fluttered his eyelashes. 

“I’ll give you that you’re even prettier than most birds here today, but I have the feeling you’re taken.”

“Oh, Matty, I’m not” he giggled, downing the shot. “Mm. Love absinth.” 

Matty sent him an inquiring look, probably unrelated to his personal tastes in liquor, but Louis let is slide and started bantering about how much of an arse Piers Morgan was, knowing that this was currently one of Matty’s topics of choice. 

 

Like that, a couple of hours passed without him managing to speak to Harry. He noticed that the model with the K name wasn’t there, which was way more relieving than he would dare to admit. Ed was downing beers as if they were water and dragged him in the corner to discuss a future collaboration, Nick Grimshaw pressed him to be on his show, James was there and for one, this was amazing, because Louis had missed the hell out of him, and they talked and laughed like maniacs for the better part of an hour.  
Harry was a busy bee, too, what being the perfect host and all, getting people drinks, kissing their cheeks, flaunting his fucking presence and dorkily dancing around with everyone. (Everyone but Louis, it seemed). 

But the night was electric and Louis knew they both felt it. He knew none of them had had more than a couple drinks. He wasn’t even tipsy and he could see Harry was in the same state, high on attention and adrenaline more than on anything else. They would exchange looks across the room, but then one of them would be seized by someone else and yet the other’s eyes would stay there, lingering, burning.

Louis was now on the terrace, smoking and chatting with a group of people who did the same. He knew that Harry was in the kitchen, alone (unless someone had joined him in the meantime), as he’d seen him in passing. He stumped on his fag end. He was going in.

He made his way from the living room, where the terrace opened, to the kitchen. 

One of Ed’s new singles begun to play, the one with the sexy beat and even sexier lyrics. That ginger was a sly one.

Louis swayed his hips as he walked, bopping happily, and then he saw Harry, still sitting on his stool by the kitchen island. He was nodding his head to the rhythm, a serious expression almost knitting his eyebrows together. They made eye contact and Harry’s face relaxed, although he was still harsh, somehow. He turned on the stool, his elbows on the island now, facing him perfectly. Louis walked towards him, simply because he couldn’t do anything else. 

Harry mouthed the next words to the song, eyes on him, unmoving.

_Come over and start up a conversation with just me and trust me I’ll give it a chance now_. 

Louis bit his lip.

Harry kept on staring and singing, although almost voiceless. _Girl, you know I want your love, your love was handmade for somebody like me_.

A couple more steps and he would be within touching distance from Harry and the mood was just electric and weird, which it shouldn’t be, since Harry was clearly singing that he wanted a girl’s love, and he was doing it staring at Louis only because he was a ladies’ man dickhead and he relished the thought that he could make Louis flustered.  
But it was okay. Tonight, Louis could be the gay dickhead to make a ladies’ man flustered. He knew Harry was game, and he’d had enough foreplay for the night. Or for forever.

He swallowed and mouthed the next words, wetting his lips. _Say boy, let’s not talk too much, grab on my waist and put that body on me_. 

(It also didn’t hurt that Harry looked extremely fuckable in that printed Gucci shirt, and that Louis had been half hard and wanting to shag the life out of him all night).

He took the final steps, moving his hips and shooting Harry a charged look, tilting his head as to challenge him. _Come on now, follow my lead, come, come on now, follow my lead_...

Harry had slid off the stool and then suddenly his hand was on the small of Louis’ back and it covered it completely, fuck. He pulled Louis closer, urgent, rough. His other hand reached the first one, he could almost keep the entirety of Louis’ waist into the pair of them, his thumbs almost touching on his front. It made Louis weak.

His breath was in Louis’ ear and his voice was clear now, some sort of destroyed rumble. “I’m in love with the shape of you, we push and pull like a magnet do,” they were swaying to the rhythm, “Although my heart is falling too, I’m in love with your body.”

Louis thought he’d never heard a sexier sound in his life, although, being engulfed in this man’s body, heat, smell, he could easily imagine some. He let his hands slide on Harry’s hips, touch barely there, guiding him in their dance. Harry was looking at him now, borderline insane, eyes almost completely black. Louis’ heart was in his own ears, in his throat, in his groin. He placed his arms on Harry’s broad shoulders, crossing his wrists behind his neck. They slotted together like fucking puzzle pieces. 

He just lost himself to the beat and to Harry, closing his eyes and swaying his head. He felt incredibly dizzy and he wondered how much of it could actually be blamed on the alcohol. (Answer: none of it).

At times, Harry would hum to the song or mumble some lyric, sending shivers down Louis’ spine.

Louis opened his eyes and he was awestruck, almost hypnotized by the view of Harry that he had from this position: his perfectly sharp jawline, hooded eyes, a sheen of sweat making him almost glow. He tightened his arms around his neck slightly. Harry responded immediately, as if he’d been abruptly woken up, by pulling them flush together, sliding his thigh between Louis. He seemed to be hard and suddenly Louis didn’t understand a thing. Or he finally understood it all. Maybe this had been his intention all along, when he had decided to come dance with Harry. Maybe not, because he still couldn’t believe it and just wanted to have a laugh at the inexplicable sexual tension that only seemed to grow between them for every moment they spent together. Maybe this was what he came for, what he thrived for, what he lived for. Maybe this was it and it had been it since 2013 and maybe this was the time. 

He could feel his own blood pumping in his eardrums, almost covering any other sound. Maybe Harry was just a horny kid and it had nothing to do with him and he would get off with a girl soon enough. But maybe it was time to get fucking real. Maybe Harry should have been given more credit from the very start. If the fact that he was rubbing his cock on Louis’ hip was anything to go by.  
Louis gripped his neck, digging his nails in the soft, damp flesh.  
He thought about soft lips and wet tongue and adoring caresses on his face.  
He thought about nights alone, sweating in his bedsheets, Harry on his mind.  
He thought of napping holding each other so tight, and the sun going down outside the studio, and lunches and dinners and feeling at ease and feeling on the edge.  
He thought about how Harry seemed to mean the lyrics he sang. Every time.  
He thought of stolen touches, of when Harry would press his thigh to Louis’ if they sat next to each other.  
He thought that Harry’s hand would crush him for how firmly it was holding him close.  
He thought that he could smell Harry’s breath and that he would faint if he didn’t taste it.  
He thought that Harry was on him and all over him and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“Are you going to leave and get off with someone else today?” Harry drawled, dragging his nose on Louis’ neck, holding him impossibly tighter.

Louis whimpered.

“Well, it is your birthday isn’t it?” he whispered between his neck and his ear, tangling his hands in the other man’s hair.

“Come on, be my baby, come on,” Harry sang quietly, voice remarkably deeper than usual. 

Louis let out an airy laugh, “If I get in your pants tonight, remind me to send Ed a thank you note.”

Harry groaned at that, gripping his waist so tight it almost hurt, then spinning him around, “Let’s go,” he mumbled in his hair, putting his hands on Louis’ shoulder and guiding him to walk, “I need you _now._ ”

Louis would grind back on him, but he was even more keen on making his way to the stairwell, ignoring the curious (or knowing) eyes on them as they passed.

They stumbled upstairs, Louis couldn’t think, couldn’t process, he just felt Harry still holding him from behind, his breath heavy and his heat almost unbearable. He felt as if he was about to crawl out of his own skin with how fucking bad he wanted this. He just wanted to turn and grab Harry’s big and hard cock and suck him dry on the bloody stairs. But it didn’t take long until they reached his bedroom. There, Harry made Louis spin again, shutting the door behind them, then pinned him on it, mouth on his left cheekbone, hands on his neck, body pressing him as if he wanted them to meld into one person. 

They were on fire.

“The door,” Louis chuckled, “So cliché.” 

Harry drew back a bit, but Louis dragged him back on him, putting his hands in the back pockets of those impossibly skinny jeans. He needed to feel everything. He wanted this so bad it hurt him, so bad he would probably hurt Harry, too.

“I don’t mind clichés,” he whispered then, gripping Harry’s hair to whisper in his ear, “I like it on every surface.”

“Fuck. Fuck you,” Harry bit his neck and then kissed it better, “You can’t just say stuff like ‘get in your pants’ or ‘like it on every surface’. You’re unreal.”

Louis tilted his neck to give Harry better access to it, and Harry’s hands were everywhere: on his torso, on his back, on his biceps, on his ass. He pulled one of Louis’ legs up to wrap it around himself, holding it there with a hand squeezing his thigh. He started grinding on him vehemently with this new angle, and Louis moaned loudly, which only prompted Harry to go harder and starting to drag wet kisses on his collarbones, while basically humping him with a fervency that was more than simple desire. Louis was intoxicated: he’d never wanted anyone so much but most of all, he’d never felt more wanted, it was making him crazy.

“Stop,” he managed to say, “Stop, H.”

Harry had stilled immediately after his first plea, which would have made him even harder, if only that would have been physically possible.  
He was now standing in front of Louis, red lips, black eyes, hair everywhere and fancy shirt hanging off one shoulder, damp with sweat.

“Sorry, Lou, are you drunk? Like, I don’t want to-”

“No, babe, no,” Louis put a hand on his chest and started pushing him further inside the room. He could swear he saw Harry’s pupils get even bigger, “I’d just much rather take my kit off and come on your face instead that in my pants.”

At that, Harry grabbed his elbows and swapped their positions, throwing him on the bed. Louis was taken aback by how insanely stunning he looked, the tendon on his neck, his sharp jawline tightening with desire. His biceps bulging under the silky material of his shirt.

“The way you talk will do me in, I swear,” Harry crawled over him.

“I have more where those come from,” Louis arched his back obscenely, desperate for some friction, desperate for Harry.

“Fuck,” Harry took off his shirt, probably ripping a couple buttons, before going for Louis’, “Off, off, please.”

“Those jeans too, then,” Louis begged, eyes wandering on Harry’s torso, white skin and flushed patches, just an idea of hair on his chest, fucking tattoos, “Please. Need to see you.”

Harry’s eyes were on him, he’d stopped his frenzied movements and was simply staring at Louis’ naked chest.

“You’re… so beautiful,” he just said, in a tone that was almost too soft; it made Louis squirm, he felt as exposed as he could be, although he was still wearing his jeans. Harry looked at him as if he was the most amazing sight in the world and he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Shut up and undress,” Louis said, to avoid thinking of the butterflies in his stomach. He was already hot and horny as fuck, he did not need that sort-of-wistful kind of feeling.

“You too! No, wait. Can… can I?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He went to unbutton Louis’ jeans, sliding back so that his head was facing Louis’ belly. His hands were trembling but there was only one button, so it was easily done; he pulled the zipper open too and Louis almost fainted at the sight of Harry’s face when he saw his cock straining his black pants.

“Normally,” Harry said, lowering some more so he could mouth at it. “Normally I’d tease you a bit. But”, he pulled the elastic, freeing Louis almost completely, “I want you so much I might faint.”

“Normally,” Louis repeated, stupidly. He could barely think now that Harry was sliding his pants off his legs, then throwing them on the floor.

“Like, in my fantasies,” Harry simply stated, serious, before licking a long stripe from Louis’ balls to his slit.

Louis moaned, then found the strength to lift himself on his elbows to have a better view. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“I just think about you. There’s not much I haven’t done to you in my dreams”, Harry shrugged, looking at his dick in a way that was proper hungry. He squeezed the base with one hand and pushed Louis’ legs wider open with the other. “I want you so much,” he added, almost reverently, biting his inner thigh.

Louis’ legs were starting to tremble. So much for not teasing.

“Take me, then,” he just said.

One hand on each of his thighs, Harry sunk down, taking all of Louis’ cock in his mouth in one go and starting to bob his head fast, slurping on it like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His fingernails dug into Louis’ skin. 

“I-” Louis’ efforts to complete a sentence were interrupted by moans and imprecations, “I had, fuck, oh god, H. I had a good wank to this. This exact image. Like, oh fuck, a- a while back.”

Harry’s eyes snapped up, on him, “When?” he asked, spit linking his lips to Louis cock.

“J- Oh FUCK! July. July.”

He felt himself hit the back of Harry’s throat. Since he’d looked up at him, Harry wouldn’t take his eyes off his face, and it was driving Louis insane, Harry’s watery eyes, his determination never to tear them away from Louis. 

He pulled off, replacing his mouth with one of those magic hands. “I had at least a wank to you every day of my fucking life since that night in December.”

“Fuck you.”

“And Lou, I don’t mean karaoke night. I mean December 2014. What you told that man in the stall.”

Louis squirmed and let out a louder moan.

“I don’t want to creep you out,” Harry muttered, jerking him off harshly as he licked his balls, panting hot breaths that made Louis’ legs twitch, “But this can’t be a surprise to you.”

“F-fuck, Harry, stop talking.”

Harry kissed and licked his torso, pausing to bite at a nipple, pulling it away from Louis’ chest before releasing it. Louis was shaking all over, a sheen of sweat coating his body.

Harry was still talking as he marked his body with that filthy mouth of his.

“Every day, Lou. For years. You destroyed me. I wanted to fuck you raw and bare back then.”

“Oh God,” Louis yelled, his legs spasming as Harry’s nose nuzzled his groin.

“You’re perfect,” he was mumbling, almost nonsensically. “You’re so perfect.”

“Ssh,” Louis placed his hand on top of Harry’s head, Harry glanced up and his eyes went even crazier.

“Please,” he begged, then opened his mouth wide on Louis’ throbbing cock. 

Louis knew what he wanted, and he used his hand to push him back down harshly. 

Harry seemed to adore it, going back to sucking him off eagerly, hollowing his cheeks, licking, drooling. He was mad and loving it and Louis felt like his life was being drained out of him by this miracle of a man between his legs.

He’d never received better head in his fucking life. Harry was getting off on it just as much as him, grinding on the mattress and humming on his cock, making all of Louis’ body vibrate with it. It made Louis want to scream. 

A hint of teeth grazed his skin. His mouth went completely agape, gasping for air that he couldn’t find.

He almost crushed Harry’s head with his thighs, locking them behind his neck and moving his hips up to meet Harry’s mouth. 

“Fuck, Harry, I’m close,” he panted, “I-if you want to-”

If anything, Harry sped up even more, his fingers finding their way up on Louis thighs, toward his ass crack, squeezing it hard.

“Close” Louis repeated, sobbing almost pathetically.

Harry nodded, without slowing down. One of his fingers pressed on Louis’ hole, Louis shuddered and came seconds later as Harry took it all in, blissfully. 

He was red, his face stained with tears, lips even puffier than usual.

“It’s unjust,” Louis whined, “You still have those jeans on.”

Harry crawled next to him, “Couldn’t wait.” He laid his head down and just blinked at Louis.

“Let me, though,” Louis shuffled down, but Harry stopped him, a hand on his shoulder.

“No need.”

Louis looked at him, confused.

“Um.”

“Oh, so you were the one to come in your pants in the end!” Louis realised, “Oh God. This shouldn’t be so hot. How are you even real?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Harry growled, extending his arm to pull Louis closer to him. 

“I’m serious,” Louis replied, pinching Harry’s nipple, which was meant to be playful, but led to Harry squeezing his arm hard and to Louis straddling the boy and sucking lovebites to mess up with that perfect skin of his, while rutting on his hardening cock. Harry’s bitten red lips were haunting him and he’d caught sight of Harry staring at his own more than once. But for now, the friction was just too delicious and Harry’s sweat was addictive. Louis couldn’t stop biting and licking every inch of this chest, shoulders, belly, running his hands everywhere, listening to Harry’s whiney moans mixed with deep grunts.  
Louis too was filling up again. How could he not, with this human masterpiece under him?

He spoke to him between kisses bites and kitten licks, enjoying the way Harry’s chest was heaving, how laboured his breathing was. “You’re so sexy. You always were, you know? But now… Fucking god, Harry. The things I’d do to you.”

Harry’s hands were on and in his ass, spreading his cheeks. He felt the cold air inside him and a shiver ran down his spine as he moaned.

“Babe.”

“I’d let you do everything,” Harry panted, “Anything.”

“Whenever you’re ready, then,” he said, playing cocky, but quite frankly ready to beg for it.

“You have no idea,” Harry smirked, rolling so he was on top of him again and he looked at him, nostrils flaring, wetting his lips, “I’m not drunk, am I?”

He didn’t wait for reply and instead started to kiss Louis’ chest, stopping to suck on his nipples. Louis toes curled, his hands going to grip Harry’s shoulders and his legs closing around Harry’s thighs. 

“You’re so hard,” Louis felt the need to say, palming him with one hand and lightly scratching his back with the other. Harry trembled into it.

“I love how you’re gagging for it,” Harry smirked, sucking a mark on Louis’ side, close to his ribcage, “And you’re in luck. Reckon I could fuck you until we pass out for exhaustion.”

“Reckon you’d need to take off those trousers for that,” Louis breathed, squirming from the way Harry’s mouth worked on his sensitive skin.

Without missing a beat, Harry unbuttoned and took off his jeans. He was kneeling on the bed, so big and hard Louis feared for his (surely designer) pants. He resisted the urge to rip them off with his teeth only because he’d tried to enact porn enough in his life to know it wouldn’t work.

“Take them off,” he instructed, “I want to see you.” 

The wording was bossy, but he sounded as if he was about to cry.

Harry just nodded and obeyed.

Seeing him, his perfect cock, hard as a rock for him, wet and ready to hopefully tear him apart, Louis swallowed a ton of saliva. “Happy birthday.”

Harry intertwined their hands, then used his weight to pin Louis’ arms over his head, “The happiest.”

His cross necklace was dangling from his chest, brushing Louis’ skin; he dragged his cock along Louis hipbone, then down his thigh, making a mess. Slowly. They just stared at each other. Then, abruptly, Harry left him to go reach the top drawer of his bedside table. Louis bit his own fist.

“What do you want?” Harry asked, tossing lube and a string of condoms on the bed and fixing his gaze on Louis again.

“It’s your birthday, mate. What do _you_ want.” 

“Well, for one, if you could avoid calling me ‘mate’ while my throat’s still sore from your cock.”

Louis whimpered as a reply, nodding weakly. 

“I also want to fuck you,” Harry added, his hand drawing shapes on Louis’ belly, “If that’s okay.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Stop being so polite, fuck. Take what you want.”

Harry glanced down, “It seems like polite gets you going.”

Louis couldn’t deny it. Consent was hot as fuck, but now that it was established that he was all in for Harry, the man could just ravish him in any way he wanted.

“Okay then,” Harry drawled, uncapping the lube and coating two of his long, long fingers with it. Louis let out a breathy moan only at the sight.

Harry leaned on him, spreading Louis’ legs and pushing his shins up so that his feet were on the duvet; he kept one hand on one of Louis’ knees, and teased his rim with a cold finger from the other one. Louis’ leg that Harry wasn’t holding almost gave out. He pushed himself on Harry’s finger frantically, begging “Come on.”

Harry smirked and obliged. The burn was amazing and fuck, fuck, he had a fucking ring.

Harry started off slow, curling his finger just right, making Louis itch, too much and not enough.

“More,” Louis begged weakly; Harry waited only a few seconds to give him what he wanted. Louis almost lost it when he started scissoring his fingers, ache mixing with pleasure in an overwhelming burn that had started to radiate through all of his body. 

“’m ready,” he panted, once Harry had picked up a merciless rhythm. “Please, so ready.”

Harry ignored him and went for another finger, hitting his spot more often than not, never relenting, cold rings easing the sting. 

“Fuck,” Louis shook his head, moving to fuck himself harder on Harry’s fingers, “Please.”

“It’ll hurt you otherwise,” Harry just replied.

“I want it to,” Louis let out, voice ruined. “A bit.”

That must have convinced Harry. He wiped his hand on the duvet and grabbed the condoms and lube again  
Louis resisted the urge to touch himself and he just watched Harry struggle to open a condom, with shaky hands, then put it on. He almost regretted his cockiness (pun unintended) because Harry was huge, but. Almost.

He inhaled sharply through his nostrils as Harry placed himself above him again, reassuming their previous position, holding hands and using them to put Louis’ arms above his head. He seemed to really like him pliant, exposed and vulnerable like that. Louis couldn’t say he minded. 

“How do you want it?” he growled, their faces close. 

“Hard.” 

“I meant-”

“I know, I know. I- I wanna look at your face.”

“Alright.”

Harry arranged himself and Louis lifted him bum to make it easier, wrapping his legs around the man’s middle.

“Don’t go easy on me,” Louis rasped.

Harry shook his head in what looked like a mix of disbelief and pure awe. “I would never.”

Harry’s eyes darted to Louis’ lips and then into his eyes again, before he started slowly pushing in, stretching him open. They never broke eye contact.  
Louis mewled, squeezing the other boy’s hands in his, where they laid on the pillow above their heads. Harry was trembling slightly when he bottomed out, panting, hot breath on Louis’ face. He was filling him up so perfectly, Louis keened at the sensation. He was made to sit on this dick for eternity, he thought, delirious. 

Harry adjusted himself inside him carefully, his eyes squeezing. “Fuck, Lou. Fuck. You’re so- So tight.”

“Move,” Louis begged, closing his eyes to give in to the pleasure.

Using their joint hands as leverage, Harry started to give it to him just like he wanted, like they both wanted, probably. Fast, desperate, sloppy but right on the spot, rough. The harsh slaps of skin on skin were only covered by their groans and moans, until Harry started properly losing it, his hands freeing Louis’ and going to his waist and then his ass, lifting him, he used them to pull Louis even closer, as if it was possible, to go even deeper. Louis’ hands found their way to Harry’s chest and he gripped it tightly, fingernails leaving crescent moons on Harry’s skin. 

“You take it so well,” Harry was now chanting, face sweaty, eyes hooded, “I can’t believe it.”

Louis opened his mouth to reply but no coherent sound came out, all but “Harry, Harry.” 

Harry. Harry was everything.

“Keep on- keep on saying that. My name,” it sounded like he was bossing him and begging him at the same time. 

Louis nodded, “Harry,” he murmured, sweetly, broken. He looked in those green eyes and cupped Harry’s cheek with one hand, reminiscent of a sweet boy, high out of his mind, after having cried alone. His thumb was on the corner of Harry’s semi open mouth. He pushed it in and Harry bit and sucked on it obscenely, spit dribbling down his chin and on Louis’ palm.

“Harry.”

Harry had slowed down, but his thrusts were precise and direct, hitting Louis prostate and almost making him scream. He had one hand on the headboard and the other on Louis’ waist, hurting him in the best way.  
Louis saw something in his eyes, something that he was pretty sure he could feel in his own chest.

“Come on, Harry,” he panted, arching his back, “Make me come. Only- Only from this.”

At that, Harry was a beast. He slammed into him with a force that made him move on the bed, the headboard banging on the wall. This time, Louis actually screamed. The pace was now merciless and Louis was so close, so close, he wanted to cry.

“Love to hear you,” Harry groaned, “I hope everyone hears. Say my name.”

“Harry.”

“Yeah… yeah. You’re amazing, baby,” Harry was pounding into him, muscles flexing, sharp tendons reflecting the pale moonlight that filtered through the window.

“Harry,” Louis whined again, amazed the sight in front of him. He felt like if he died like this, he wouldn’t mind. His hands were now running freely on Harry’s slick back, at times gripping him, scratching.

“Fuck, Lou, f-fuck. You’re so hot. So tight.”

Louis was seeing stars.

“So close,” he cried.

Harry nodded, “Fuck, yeah. M-me too.”

Every muscle on his perfect body was tense, trembling with effort and pleasure. Some sweat beads were falling on Louis from his hairline.  
He kept on hitting Louis’ spot and Louis wasn’t even seeing stars now, he was seeing God.

“HARRY!” Louis yelped, tears prickling the corners of his eyes, an unbearable heat in his lower stomach.

Harry didn’t slow down, face buried in Louis’ neck, breathing on him, mouth hanging open, wetting Louis’ collarbones with drool, their sweat mingling, damp hair in Louis’ mouth, “Whenever you want, baby.”

He was splitting him open and Louis felt like dying, seeing white. It took him a couple more seconds to come, and Harry maybe ten after that. He collapsed on Louis, crushing him with his body, without pulling out.

Louis heart was still trying to beat out of his chest, he could feel it in his throat and in his lower belly.  
He wanted to speak but didn’t quite know what to say, nor if he was going to have the voice to say it.

_Best sex of my fucking life. Now I’m ruined for everyone else, forever. Please fuck me like this until we die from it._

“Good stamina,” he breathed instead.

Harry moved to pull out, Louis wincing a bit at the sensation. His eyes were on Harry’s back muscles and on the few scratches on his shoulders as he discarded the condom.

“I’m pretty sure it didn’t even last that long,” Harry said then, laying down next to him again.

“Now you’re just being cocky,” Louis looked at him through his eyelashes, fighting to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted, but honestly, he would also love to go at it again. 

Harry chuckled, “Good pun.”

They stayed silent for a while, regaining some air. 

“Happy birthday,” Louis said then. 

Harry had closed his eyes, laying on his side with his front to Louis. “The happiest,” he mumbled, without opening them.

Louis caressed his sweaty hair and waited for a few minutes, just listening to the boy’s even breaths, until he was certain that Harry was, indeed, asleep. He watched him for a second too long, lingering on the curve of his upper lip, the way the light hit his exposed cheekbone, the slope of his nose, the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was a fucking miracle. Louis’ chest tightened.

Careful to be as silent as possible, he got up and padded to the ensuite, opting against taking a shower, because that would mean staying in Harry’s room for longer and possibly waking him up; and that would lead to possibly, probably Louis finding himself asking the other man, in a post sex bliss, whether it was only him who felt like they’d made love and not simply shagged. 

Instead, he cleaned himself up as best as he could, went back to the bedroom to gather his clothes and hastily put them on and then leave, barefoot, finding that the party downstairs had died, but that the few remaining guests were staring at him like he’d just made a porno for their enjoyment. (Which, he realised, wasn’t far from the truth).

He tried not to limp to the door, but he accepted the fact that he probably looked like a penguin; he was also vaguely aware of his t-shirt’s label scratching the dip beneath his Adam’s apple, so there was that.

He looked down, focusing on the party residues that littered the floor, avoiding people he might know. 

“LOUIS!”

He was startled as he’d just reached the lift. He didn’t give a damn about people anymore, not when Harry was running down the stairs in his fucking pants, body covered in marks as if he’d been in a fight, pillow marks on a side of his face and hair sticking up everywhere. 

“Stop!” Harry called again, as if Louis would be able to move. 

He felt like crying as he watched Harry march over to him, probably stepping on spilled liquor and fallen finger food, unbothered by his guests who, for as polite as they could be, couldn’t avoid looking at him, more or less subtle. 

“Lou,” Harry murmured, when he was in front of him, “Hey.”

The lift declared its arrival with the sound that Louis had learned to recognise, and that he tended to associate with the numb but persistent sorrow that he felt every time he left Harry’s place.

Harry nodded toward it, “Go in.”

Louis took two steps back, without looking away from Harry, who guided and followed him inside the lift.

Before the doors were finished closing, Harry’s hands were on his face, delicate. His eyes were incredibly sad and Louis couldn’t handle any of it. “Lou. I’m sorry.”

“What?” If anything, Louis was the one feeling guilty, he was the one who escaped like a thief while his lover was asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated, thumbing Louis’ cheekbones and jawline.

“O-okay.” 

Harry got closer, searching Louis’ eyes, but probably only finding questions in them. (And maybe a whole lot of longing). He kept on caressing him, frowning. “It was all wrong, Lou, I’m so sorry.”

Oh. Great.

“It’s,” Louis tried to shift from his touch, but Harry didn’t let him; Louis glanced down because he couldn’t handle those eyes anymore. “It’s okay, I guess? I don’t expect... Like. I really wanted it, I got it, it’s-”

“Shut up,” Harry’s lips were now so close to his that Louis could feel them move as he spoke. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I fucked you and I didn’t even kiss you. When it’s kind of all I dre-”

Louis arms tightened around Harry’s neck as he pressed their lips together, urgently but calmly at the same time. For once, he was absolutely certain: this was all he wanted and all Harry wanted. This was the only thing right. The only possible outcome. Right then, before he could even deepen the kiss, they arrived at the lobby. Louis exhaled a tiny laugh, his elbows still over Harry’s shoulders, hands in his hair.

“I’m not dressed,” Harry stated the obvious.

Louis left his warmth just enough to lean toward the buttons and push for the penthouse again. “Let’s go back then.”

Then it was Harry who was in his space, warm hand on the nape of his neck. “I don’t know how I could go without this” he murmured against Louis’ lips. They both closed the distance in the same time, Harry stepping forward, Louis lifting his chin to capture Harry’s lips.

Their mouths were already open, tongues quickly sliding against each other. It was intense, fervent. It was so different than that one time years before. Back then, it had been lazy, sweet, almost mechanical, like they knew already that their lips would go so well together, that their tongues were made to meet, like they were giving it a go.  
Right now, though, it was the opposite. It was desire and sadness and apologies and a desperate need to make things right. It was trying to convey in one single moment that they’d both wanted this for so fucking long. It was making up for words left unsaid, for missed beats, for those seconds where they’d been so close to this very moment. It was making up for lost time. At least, this was how Louis felt, Harry’s mouth insistent on his, and his own just as eager. The elevator ride lasted too little, and they were at the flat again. At least, for a moment they would breathe.

They glanced at each other before stepping back in, shaken with uncontrollable laughter, Louis starting to run upstairs and Harry following, the guests blatantly ignored.

Louis stopped on top of the stairs, away from everyone’s sight but Harry.

“I feel so tall,” he giggled, stopping Harry, two steps below him, by placing a hand on his shoulder. The other hand reached it and he slowly leaned on the other man, a playful sparkle in his eyes. Harry followed his every move, bewitched.

Harry’s hands reached his hips. He was probably holding him in balance so Louis could lean enough to kiss him, but Louis just quickly pecked his nose and turned to run into the bedroom, still dishevelled from how they’d left it. 

He threw himself on the bed, Harry rapidly stumbling over him. Louis used his elbows to move backwards, propping himself up and never daring to look away from Harry.

“I’m probably going to kiss you again in ten seconds,” Harry declared, crawling over him on his hands and knees.

He rolled his eyes, “Ten? Might as well have a wank in the meant-”

Harry laughed and kissed him, knocking them both out of balance, so they were laying on the bed. Their teeth clinked and bit, plump lips pulling his, tongues curling around one another.

“You’re so sneaky!” Louis squealed, but Harry shut him up, “Those were, mh, way, way less than-”

Harry’s mouth was so skilled that Louis was reduced to jelly for a couple seconds, as Harry licked into him. 

“Less than ten seconds!” he finished, fast, just to get it over with, before grabbing Harry’s growing hair behind his left ear and drag him to himself again, flattening his hand on Harry’s neck.

Harry smirked. “Couldn’t resist.” 

Louis hummed contentedly, cherishing the way Harry’s body was heavy on his. He moved a bit underneath it, which seemed to signal something to Harry, whose kiss became even more persistent, growing desperate with every passing second. And Louis was so, so on board. He moaned when Harry left his mouth only to trail kisses down his jawline and neck, a hand going to loosen the neckline of his tee to expose more skin.

“I think your shirt’s on backwards.”

There was something about Harry’s voice in that single one sentence that sent Louis’ brain in overdrive. Whether it was the destroyed rumble, laced with lust, or the posh accent, or the fucking stupidity of the statement, or the fact that it just came from Harry’s lips that where still connected to his collarbone by a shiny trail of saliva… it had him lose it, completely.

“Fuck me again,” he prayed, arching his back to make Harry feel just how ready he was. “You can kiss me this time.”

Harry immediately lifted his t-shirt, Louis shuffling to help him take it off. Good thing Harry was already half naked. 

“You had me at ‘fuck’,” he joked, before Louis grabbed his jaw to kiss him again. 

Harry was surprising dexterous in removing Louis’ jeans and pants without breaking their kiss, if not to kiss down Louis’ chest while he kicked the clothes from his ankles to the floor. 

“No fingers,” Louis instructed, “I’m okay from before.”

Harry seemed pleased to just get on with it. Lube and condoms were already on the bed and Harry made a quick use of both, while Louis lazily stroked himself.

“Don’t,” he said, as soon as he was done. “Hands where I can see them.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis complained, but obeyed, wrapping his hands around Harry’s neck, his fingers playing with the man’s hair.

“Would you stop insulting me while I have the upper hand?” Harry shook his head in amusement, lining himself up. Only the anticipation was already making Louis tremble.

“A pathetic excuse for a pun,” he retorted.

Unexpectedly, Harry slammed into him, then out and in again, not gently at all this time, making him gasp audibly. “Oh, yes?!” he asked, cocky, although his voice sounded already strained.

He’d picked up an insane pace immediately, Louis was already panting, cursing under his breath. 

“You can… you know. You can get in anytime. Let me know when you do.” 

“Fucking God,” Harry bit his lip, going even faster.

“You can- AH! You can move, you know? I’m- fuck, I’m okay.”

Harry laughed at that, but also took his revenge but getting hold of Louis’ cock. Louis sobbed.

“You’d better save your breath for screaming instead of talking shit,” Harry grinned.

“I thought there would be kissing involved.” 

And Harry was literally everywhere, in him, one hand on his dick, the other on his ass, strongly gripping it, warm tongue in his throat.

They kissed messily as Harry fucked him so hard that the headboard was banging on the wall, Louis bouncing on the quilt with every thrust, heels digging into Harry’s back. Harry’s hold on his cock was firm, but his hand wasn’t moving, apart from the ricochet of the rest of their activity, which was more than enough to have Louis close to tears, almost overstimulated everywhere.

“Close,” he managed to sputter, Harry biting the side of his chin.

His thrusts became even crazier, no rhythm or direction, Harry obviously chasing his own pleasure, but also aiming to please Louis first. The moment his large hand started moving on Louis’ length, he couldn’t hold it anymore, coming all over Harry’s fist and on his chest. 

Louis used the little energy he still had in him to take a hold of Harry’s hand and lick a fat stripe of his own come on the palm, eyes in Harry’s, which seemed to do it for him.

With a call of “Louis,” Harry was filling the condom up. Louis much regretted not being able to feel his own walls get wet and dripping with Harry. He shot him a thankful look as Harry pulled out and discarded the rubber. Harry smiled back, amused, before sliding off the bed and padding to the bathroom, which gave Louis a good chance to admire his narrow hips, little perfect bum and defined back muscles.

When Harry got back, a few seconds later, carrying two wet cloths, the view was even better.

“Those tattoos,” Louis let out, “I’m going to be hard again.”

“It’s no problem,” Harry drawled, cleaning Louis up, despite he himself being way more covered in come, especially around his sternum. But Louis didn’t feel like being polite as the cloth was warm and fuzzy and oh God, Harry was an angel. 

Harry cleaned himself up too; Louis stared at him, rapt. 

“If I fall asleep,” Harry asked, slowly, carefully, as he turned to deposit the cloths on the floor, “Will you still be here in the morning?”

“Considering I am currently unable to walk, I’d say yes, Harold.”

Harry hummed, pleased. Louis was already pulling the quilt up to get under it. 

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Harry complained.

“Just sleep, grumpy,” Louis commanded, scooting closer to him as Harry was joining him under the covers. “You’ll never know until you wake up.”

“But-”

“Stop being a little bitch and sleep.”

Harry bit his lip, then curled on the side that wasn’t facing Louis. Jesus, was he the little spoon? Louis was fucking gone for him. 

“You know that you being bossy gets me going,” Harry mumbled, but drowsiness sneaked through his voice.

“We’ll see about that,” was the last thing that Louis managed to say, as the covered Harry’s back and held him from behind with one arm. 

He could feel the boy vibrate with happiness and he already knew he himself was going to get a fucking good night of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooooo, this happened. it was bound to happen i think, it was getting frustrating for me personally to handle the tension and every chapter where i postponed it started to feel like a filler, so here it goes. hope you enjoy! :)


	11. The one where they're together and horny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Harry's party. They fuck a lot. Louis witnesses a phone call and decides to go with the flow. Ed Sheeran is a drunk cupid. The day after, they record. Something has changed. It shows.

February 2017

Louis woke up to sunbeams streaming into the room through the curtains, particles of dust creating a stream in the air. He was feeling well rested, very sore, mildly sweaty and distinctly happier than he’d been in a very long time. 

There are those moments in the morning, when sleep has sated you and cured all of your worries, when you wake up naturally and not to an alarm, before the awareness of reality kicks you in the gut, you’re just there, between sleep and life, and you’re no one. You don’t have a body or a job or reasons to be stressed, you don’t have things to do, the heat collected during the night nurses you and your mind is too hazy to make sense, to start spinning, planning, considering, wondering and, inevitably, worrying.  
At some point in his life, Louis had lived for those moments. Falling asleep was the hardest part, but once he’d managed to turn his anxiety off, well, waking up was the best. He cherished that precious feeling and held on to it; at some point, he began being convinced that it was what had kept him sane. He was way less anxious now, all things considered, but he still liked those minutes in the morning, when, no matter where he was, he could just stay still and, for a handful of minutes, he could be no one.

Today, though; today his eyelashes fluttered on someone else’s skin, his body heat melded with that of another person. Today we opened his eyes only to see Harry’s broad, milky back, a few scratches marking it that made is stomach twist in the most delicious kind of way; today he could smell man and sex and apples and peppermint and today, he thought, he was not happy because he was no one. He was happy because he was Louis Tomlinson.  
Of course, maybe this wouldn’t last. Maybe they needed to talk. But now… now Louis delicately extracted himself from his position behind Harry, carefully letting the boy’s back touch the mattress, so he could crawl on him, stealth like a cat, and get his mouth on his hard cock, starting off slow, with a tiny lick.

Despite craving a taste so bad that he’d almost whined only at the sight of him, Louis tried to be as sweet as possible on Harry’s wonderful body. Harry’s belly was sucked in and he let out a kittenish moan just from the way Louis had suckled his tip. Louis glanced up just so see Harry glancing down. Their eyes smiled to each other. Then, Louis’ gaze focused lower, on Harry’s laurel tattoos, where his thumbs pressed harder, now that Harry was wide awake and didn’t need any special tact anymore.

He was intoxicated with Harry’s smell alone; the feel of him, heavy on his tongue, was on another level. He took all of him down eagerly, realising he didn’t have the control to tease him very much, he needed to feel him deep in his throat, to swallow that unbearable heat, sensing the veins pulsating on his tongue. He was doing this to give Harry pleasure, thriving in how he’d managed to ruin him in less than a minute with only his mouth, but he realised he was pleasing himself just as much. Harry was a sobbing mess, continuous moans leaving his puffy lips, chest heaving. Louis spied his hands going white knuckled for how violently he was gripping the duvet, he’d also thrown his head back and Louis wanted to bite that Adam’s apple so much. Now, however, he couldn’t tear away from that perfect cock, and despite the fact that his own was aching for being neglected, he couldn’t take his hands off Harry either. Harry was so toned and slim but he had soft tiny love handles that were just amazing to squeeze, and he was so responsive to the slightest touch. Louis could see he was struggling not to thrust in his mouth, and he appreciated the self-restraint that Harry was showing for his sake, although he wouldn’t have minded to be forced to stay still and used by Harry without mercy, for his pleasure only. The thought alone made him speed up, pushing back tears when he felt Harry hit the back of his throat. 

Harry, who hadn’t managed a proper word until then, let out a broken “God,” voice so deep that Louis thought he could come only from hearing it.

Louis let him slip almost completely out of his mouth, Harry whining and wiggling his legs involuntarily. He was so needy, and Louis felt inebriated with power. He tightened one of his hands around the base of Harry’s cock, leaving the other on his hip. He pulled away, admiring how wet and red he’d made him, and Harry inhaled sharply, breathing unevenly and biting his bottom lip, as he looked at Louis through semi-closed eyes. Louis licked him from the base to the tip, where he played a slow, teasing trick with his tongue that had Harry clench his ass cheeks and buck up in his mouth, exhaling a “Ah” that set Louis’ insides on fire and made him smile, lips still on Harry’s length.

Then he went down again, thorough but also more and more frenzied with every passing second, enjoying it so, so much. He was fucking starving for Harry even as he choked on him and he needed Harry to know.

“You’re- ah, you’re-” Harry was shaking and struggling for air. Louis found it to be incredibly motivating.

He raised his teary eyes to meet his again, which was when Harry lost it completely, jerkily thrusting in his mouth a few times, every muscle from his thighs, to his belly, up to his neck flexing.  
Louis didn’t slow down, the grip of his hands sliding from Harry’s hips to his bum, nails digging in the flesh.

“You’re amazing,” Harry blabbered, despite clearly lacking the oxygen. Louis just nodded on his dick, still looking at him through the watery haze that was clouding his vision. 

“You’re the- Louis! Oh god. _Louis_. Fuck! F-fuck. You’re-”

Harry couldn’t finish his sentence. He was completely breathless as he came in Louis’ mouth, trembling and fisting the sheets.

Louis loved every last drop of him, already aware that Harry’s come was probably the only drug he would never get enough of.

“The best,” Harry panted after a few seconds, as Louis wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb’s knuckle. “The… the fucking best.” 

His eyelids were heavy and his mouth stayed agape and he just stared at Louis, who was sitting at the bottom of the bed. 

“You’re still hard,” Harry noticed.

Louis shrugged one shoulder, feigning indifference, but in reality getting even more deliciously antsy at the lust that he saw painted on Harry’s face. The boy was insatiable. 

Harry threw his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes and patting next to his face. “Up here.” 

Louis got on his hands and knees to crawl to him, “Alright, but I taste like come and morning breath.”

“I didn’t mean your face.”

Louis stilled for a split second, goosebumps covering his entire body, cock twitching in pained anticipation.

Harry’s voice was raw, rougher than ever. 

“Do whatever you want,” Harry said, breathing heavily, eyes still shut. 

Louis nodded; even though he couldn’t be seen, he was too aware that he wouldn’t have been able to talk right then.

He threw one leg over Harry’s chest to straddle it, keeping his balance with his hands on the sides of Harry’s head. He lifted himself up on shaky arms to sway over Harry’s face, hearing his breath hitch. 

“Yes,” Harry murmured, and Louis took it as the final confirmation to sit on his face, Harry’s wet mouth opening immediately underneath him, eliciting an acute moan out of Louis.

He felt high and unable to properly process any kind of rational thought, his head raving _wet wet wet_ and _hot hot hot_ and Harry, _Harry_. He hadn’t even realised he’d started to move, grinding slowly on Harry’s tongue, extended just perfectly, to meet him. He felt that Harry was using his hands to spread him wider open and suddenly all he needed was release. He held on the headboard with both hands and used it to help himself hump Harry’s face, his tongue slicking him up everywhere, nose nudging him in all the right places. He faintly wondered if Harry could breathe, but the dark pleasure was quick to override that glimpse of reason, the pleasure was everything and he chased it furiously, rubbing himself on Harry, ecstatic with the muffled sounds that he was making under him. Harry was so hungry for him, so desperate, it made Louis see black. His eyes rolled at the back of his head as one of his hands reached for his own cock, pulling the skin down harshly, rejoicing in the raw contact of his dry hand with the wetness he’d already found there. He jerked himself off urgently, like a teenager watching porn for the first time, eyes semi closed, head tilted back, riding Harry’s face and feeling himself get more and more loose with every lick of Harry’s vicious tongue, laid out for him to use as he pleased. 

Louis was mad and going and going and going, always faster, almost violent, feeling so good and so, so wet, blindly chasing his orgasm. He was only seconds away, his ears were buzzing but he felt Harry give his thighs a firm squeeze, as if he was claiming his attention; so, he tried to tune in on reality without slowing down, and heard Harry beg, raising his voice to let it be heard, “Face.” 

Louis got what he meant. They were so in tune, it was insane.  
Nodding frantically, he slid off Harry’s face to sit on his chest, giving himself another four or five tugs before he came all over the man’s face, just like he’d requested. Harry opened his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, and Louis realised he had a hand on himself too, behind Louis’. 

Struggling to breathe, he freed Harry’s chest and let himself fall down next to him, spent, as he watched Harry come for the second time, painting his own fist and arm. 

Louis was curled on his side like a baby, with both hands under his cheek, sweat cooling on his skin, Harry’s saliva drying between his ass cheeks. He felt sated, impossibly calm, tired, and yet countless borderline fanatic thoughts were swirling around in his head. He was going to fall asleep but he needed to say something; he’d barely said a sentence to Harry since they’d woken up, but he couldn’t possibly say _you’re the fucking best too_ or _the green of your eyes is so transparent in the morning that my throat tightens_ or _this was the best wake up of my life, your very existence makes me want to believe in God, you’re perfect, you’re so bright it’s blinding baby please don’t break my heart I think I’m falling for you_.

So, he just closed his eyes and rasped out, “You’re so dirty. Such a good lay,” his lips curling in a satisfied smile.

Harry laughed, then Louis heard him get up, feeling the bed dip slightly with his movement. He probably involuntarily made a face, because Harry’s soothing voice assured him, “I’m shutting the curtains so we can sleep some more. I don’t think it’s even past eight.”

Louis hummed appreciatively, and was sound asleep before Harry could even reach him back in bed. 

 

When Louis woke again, he was alone. The duvet had been wrapped around him and he smiled at the thought, because he clearly hadn’t mastered the energy to do it himself. The curtains were still shut, so the room was darker than before, but Harry’s bedside clock said it was past 12. Louis rolled on his back and stretched, his whole body vibrating. He would have loved to just drift to sleep again, but he was in desperate need of a shower, so he forced himself to get up and padded to the ensuite.  
It was very much like the natural extension of a sex lair, all black marble and golden details, the towels fluffy and warm and enormous bathtub plus shower filled with hipster Aesop products, with a minimalist packaging that looked like it belonged in a museum. He was going to give Harry so much shit for it, he thought, inspecting to find if he could even make out a shampoo from a shower gel.

After fifteen minutes of letting the scorching hot spray run over him, soaped water collecting at his feet, he shook up and decided it was time to look for Harry. None of the meditation he’d done in there could help him figure stuff out. He’d gone from ‘he’s definitely regretting it now and he escaped leaving me here’ to ‘I just want him again’, from ‘this was a one-time (well, four or five times) thing and it’ll never happen again’ to ‘maybe one last time’, to ‘maybe forever’.  
Also, he smelled very good now, which probably hadn’t been the case for most of the previous night and morning, so he wanted Harry so see him like that.  
He used a ton of mouthwash, politely opting against using Harry’s toothbrush.  
He rubbed his hair with a towel until it was damp but not dripping anymore, then proceeded to go get dressed. 

Next to the bathroom, a door opened to a dressing area, all surrounded with full-length mirrors, where Louis took in his blissfully devastated appearance; it was all very chic and soothing, with plush beige leather seating and another door that lead to a walk-in closet that was even bigger than Louis’.  
Luckily, it was structured quite similarly, so Louis quickly found the underwear drawer and picked up simple black pants. He felt like a thief going through Harry’s stuff, but he couldn’t possibly wear his own dirty stuff, it would have frustrated the purpose of the long shower with Harry’s fancy soaps and all. Plus, Louis always felt sexier in another man’s underwear.  
He didn’t dare to mess up with Harry’s perfectly arranged closet and walked back to the room, which, he realised, had been left in quite a messy state. If the state of his other rooms was anything to go by, Harry was a bit of an organization freak, and Louis felt his heart swell at the thought that Harry might have refrained from tiding everything up in there in order not to wake him.  
In fact, he picked Harry’s Gucci shirt from the floor, sniffing how great it smelled, like perfume and Harry. Mindlessly, he slipped it on; it was already oversized on Harry, so it almost reached mid-thigh on him. Overall, he felt light and clean and good. 

Barefoot, he left the bedroom to look for Harry. The hardwood floors didn’t squeak under his steps, an impressive feature that he wasn’t surprised to find in Harry’s house. He made his way through the large corridor, spying three two closed doors on a side and two closed, one open one at the end of the other. He slowly approached, starting to hear Harry’s voice coming from inside.

“…creep him out, or something.”

Ooh shit. Louis had enough younger sisters to have perfected the skill of knowing when he was the subject of a conversation; namely, one that he wasn’t supposed to hear. None of that had thought him to go away when he stumbled upon one, though. He stilled and, despite himself, kept on listening.

“No, no, man, it’s… He can’t, now. We’re still recording it.”

See. It was about him indeed. Even though it was expected, his heart rate increased.

“Because...!,” Harry’s voice softened, “Because it was amazing and if we talked about the song, it could change everything.”

Louis bit his lip. Fuck. What did this even mean? Of course Louis wasn’t a fan of shagging someone who was hung up on someone else. Clearly, Harry knew this, hence he’d rather avoid going in depth about the song, which was… well, understandable. Still. It should have sent Louis running, because this wasn’t meaningless to him, at this point. It could be playful, casual, whatever. That wasn’t the same as to say that it didn’t mean shit. He should have just said goodbye and see you at work, but all that echoed through his mind was _it was amazing_ , because it was amazing, yeah it was. Louis was a big boy and he could handle this. Harry had said sex with him was amazing and that he didn’t wish for things to change; they were also good friends, at this point. Maybe they could just see where this went and at some point, the song would be out, its recipient would be all over Harry (clearly, like, who wouldn’t with a song like that?) and Louis would be heartbroken. Fuck, no. This was not okay. Louis became aware of his heart plummeting painfully in his chest, anxiety ready sneak in. But the thing was, he also knew why he felt like this. As in, he feared letting Harry go way more than jumping into this, whatever this was. Leaving Harry was the only thing that made his heart break.

“I’ll get there, I’ll get there,” Harry was reassuring the person of the other end, and his voice was closer to the door now, “Look, I’ll better go see if he woke up because-”

Louis stopped listening to take five long steps back, figuring that if he’d turned around, Harry would have grasped on what he’d been doing; like this, on the contrary, he could look as if he’d just started walking toward him.  
He was a bit nervous though, still tempted to make his escape before it was too late, before the crazy thoughts he’d had in a sleepy sex haze got too real.

Harry walked pulled the door open, pocketing his phone.

The way his face lit up when he laid eyes on Louis made it clear that Louis had no choice whatsoever. 

“Morning,” he smiled, looking at him while fiddling with the bottom of Harry’s shirt.

Harry was lovely, wearing grey cut off joggers that hung low on his hips and showed off his knees (Harry had sexy knees, okay) and a slouchy white tee, hair all puffed up and fluffy. 

“Hey,” he replied, in his low tone that made Louis knees weak, eyeing his own shirt on the other man’s body. 

Louis walked to him and Harry took a few steps back, so they found themselves back in the room where Harry had been before, which, much to Louis’ pleasure, was a guestroom, not as big as Harry’s master, but even cosier, the colour scheme appearing to be teal and soft beige. 

“Why were you here?” Louis asked, standing in front of him until Harry’s knees hit the side of the bed.

Harry sat, “Needed to shower. Didn’t want to wake you. I used this bathroom instead.”

(Great. He was a fucking angel.)

“Um,” Harry looked at him, soft smile, “Wanna eat?”

Louis’ tongue darted to wet his bottom lip, “Yeah.”

Harry let out a snorted cackle, “I meant food.”

Louis opened his eyes innocently, pouting a bit. “Me too.”

 

“Fuck, god, fuck,” Harry screamed, grinding back fiercely on Louis’ face.

Louis’ hands tightened impossibly on his bum cheeks, his tongue met Harry’s movements eagerly. 

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbled, Harry shivering against his lips, “Can you come only from this?”

“Fuck, yes, yes, Lou. I’ve been ready for like half an hour.”

Louis nodded, alternating lapping at Harry’s loosen hole and just fucking it with his tongue, as he’d been doing for a while, causing Harry to shake and curse endlessly.

At one particularly sharp flick of his tongue, Harry came with a shout, falling apart on the guest bed, Louis’ face still buried inside him.

Harry was face first on the bed, but turned slightly to look at him, “Come kiss me.”

“To think I’d used mouthwash to give you a proper song.” 

“I don’t give a shit.” 

Louis smiled and crawled next to him.

A long snog and a quick handjob later (Louis considered writing a song about Harry’s hands), they managed to reach the kitchen.

It was about lunch time, so Harry made gooey eggs with vegetables, a stack of blueberry pancakes and a pan of extra crispy bacon.  
Louis would have cleaned the kitchen from the party, but it was shiny as new already. He thought about a maid coming in and blushed a bit.

They ate in silence, at times erupting in giggles when their eyes met – which was often; Louis lightly kicked Harry’s shins until Harry reacted and their ankles tangled beside the kitchen island, like in every cheesy novel and rom com.

Louis helped Harry clean up, but stood behind him as he loaded the dish washer, something he had soon accepted to have a very high appreciation for. It actually reminded him of the dinner they’d had the previous summer. Oh how things had changed. And he didn’t even mean the sex, although, admittedly, that was quite remarkable in itself. He just felt comfortable around Harry, and remembered feeling the same back then, too; now, however, he also actually _knew_ Harry, or parts of him, at least. He knew how cranky he got in the evenings after the studio, he knew how badly he craved chocolate despite his posh skinny fanatic image, he knew about his bad back, about his childhood friends, how lovely he smelled even with no perfume on. He knew tipsy Harry putting on sexual songs for karaoke and sleepy Harry forcing his eyes to stay open in front of the tv and hard-working Harry shaking hands with everyone even in the most crowded of rooms. He knew how Harry interacted with people, and how it interacted with him. And now he knew what Harry felt like, what he tasted like, how he moaned, how he came… 

“You okay?”

He blinked quickly, waking up from his reverie and nodding, “Yeah, yeah. I was just… Thinking.”

“What about,” Harry took two long steps and he was on him, hands on the island, caging Louis between his outstretched arms. 

Louis breath faltered.  
In lieu of a reply he just laced his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss. Harry responded immediately, placing his hands on Louis’ lower back to drag him closer, lips and tongue sucking him in.  
Louis smiled into the kiss thinking that Harry would have a beard burn on most of his body after today and that, when he was eating him out, Harry had sputtered something about how much he loved it, which had turned him on even more. 

Harry bit on his lip and drew back a bit. Louis opened his eyes and was met with Harry’s, their breaths mingling in the sliver of space between their lips. 

“Thank you for your gift,” Harry said, pressing their lips together with a hand behind Louis’ head. “I love it.”

Side-glancing at his wrist, Louis noticed Harry was wearing the bracelet with the anchor on the arm where he didn’t have the tattoo (which Louis appreciated, otherwise it would have been a bit redundant). 

Louis let his hands slide all the way down from Harry’s hair to his back, letting them crawl on the burning skin beneath his t-shirt.

“I hadn’t noticed it. Looks great” he whispered, closing his eyes again.

Harry laughed lightly on his lips. “You’ve been distracted.”

Louis deepened the kiss, palming Harry with one hand as he slid the other on his bum, inside the elastic band on his joggers.

“I have,” he said in Harry’s mouth.

It wasn’t long until he was being hoisted on the island, receiving a quick peck on the lips from a black eyed Harry. “Wait here.”

“We’re in a kitchen! Can’t you just use olive oil or something?!” he yelled behind him, writhing on the counter top, as Harry literally ran through the living room to reach the downstairs bathroom.

“You’ve been watching too much porn!” Harry raised his voice back.

“Excuse you!?”

But when Harry got on top of him on the counter, his whole body sliding on Louis’ as he fucked him hard and deep against the cold surface of the island, holding his biceps and biting his neck, pounding into him until Louis was screaming, well, he was excused. 

 

When he didn’t need to turn the key to open his apartment’s door, Louis was almost about to turn around and run. But, alas, he needed to be home. 

That was why, after showering again – with Harry, this time – he’d struggled to put some clothes back on (“Keep the shirt, though. Please.”) and, after a final snog next to the lift, he’d wobbled through the lobby, gaining the most sympathetic look from Jacob, the doorman he’d by now made friends with.

“Good night, Mister Tomlinson?”

Louis had felt the burn rise from his cheeks to his ears. A part of him, though, was already game to climb back to Harry, relishing the idea of everyone knowing what they’d been up to. 

“Eh, decent,” he had smiled, “Did you start early this morning?”

“In case you were wondering,” Jacob winked, “This building only houses a few select owners, and every floor is completely sound proof. However, even if it wasn’t, I doubt the sound would make it all the way down here.”

Louis had blushed even more furiously. “I was genuinely asking about your work day!” he’d exclaimed, fake-outraged.

“I know, I know, Mister Tomlinson. You’re a nice man. Maria thanks you for the autograph and picture.”

“It’s no problem,” Louis had smiled. He liked this man.

He’d bid him goodbye seeing as his car had arrived, and had tried his best to walk there with all the dignity he could master. 

Now, however. If his house was open, he knew who was inside. And he wouldn’t be as easy-going as Jacob the consierge.

With a deep breath, he pushed the front door open.

“Hey, mate. You look like you’ve been gang-banged.” 

“Thanks,” he muttered, turning to close the door.

He left the keys on the console and kicked off his shoes, walking further inside, where he could already spot Zayn, lounging on his sofa, surrounded by beers.

He kept on staring at him, an eyebrow quirked in amusement, “So… have you?” 

Louis glanced down at his bare feet, “No.”

“I’m assuming you had a nice time at Harry’s party? And afterparty?” 

Louis had reached him, and sprawled himself on another sofa. “Yeah,” he breathed, letting his eyes fall shut, “Was nice.”

“I’m going to laugh so much tomorrow.” 

Louis turned to look at him, “What?!”

“You’re on Corden with Harry! Teasing the song! Didn’t you remember?”

“Oh man, fuck you so much. I talked to James last night, we’re on in two weeks. Nice try though.”

“Guess he didn’t fuck your brains out then.”

Louis rolled his eyes, taking a throw pillow and placing it on his face. “He kinda did,” he admitted.

“Yeah, go figure. My grandpa walks like Tyra freaking Banks compared to you. He’s lame since birth, by the way.”

Louis cackled. “You’ve been watching ANTM again? Without me?”

“Well you’re out there being shagged and all. Nice shirt, too.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous. Liam will be back soon.”

“Don’t change the topic. Were there any paps?”

“Um, not that I know of. You haven’t called them and neither did Harry’s team, so we’re cool.”

“Okay.”

“Why, though?” Louis removed the pillow to glance at his friend. 

“I don’t know, maybe because you have bruises in every exposed part of your body, you look high as a kite, you’re wearing Harry’s shirt and I’m pretty sure there’s come on your jeans?”

Louis’ eyes darted to check, but then he decided to maintain his cool. “Yeah, but I mean, why do you sound worried? The press knows I’m gay, my shags hardly ever make news anymore. And I don’t think they’d guess it was Harry, for them he’s the straightest straight who ever… um, straighted, or whatever.”

“Right,” Zayn giggled. “I don’t know… I’m starting to see stuff. I’d have to talk about it with his team but I’m pretty sure it’s more of a PR concern, whereas I’m just a curious fucker, so.”

“What are you on about?”

A few seconds later, he was almost hit in the head by Zayn’s iPhone. Being a popstar and all, he was quite used to this. He lifted the screen to his face, reading ‘Harry Styles on the ideal partner: female is not that important’. “Oh”

“Oh?” Zayn’s eyebrows were about to fly away from his forehead, which would have been a waste, considering the indecent amount of time he spent on them. “You mean you didn’t guess, after he fucked every hole of your body?!”

“Ugh, don’t be so crude.” 

Zayn scoffed.

“I mean, I… like, of course I knew, and he’s like, skilled, I mean with men, and all. But that doesn’t mean shit, you know, there’s the song.”

“Man, I’m starting to hate this song.”

Louis pouted, “It’s a beautiful song.”

“I’m just trying to look after you, babe.” 

(Louis found someone else calling him ‘babe’ a bit weird, after the hours spent with Harry).

“I know, but what should I do? We’re only human, Z, and he’s fucking hot.”

“More like animals.”

“Whatever. Don’t ever be serious, it’s fine.” 

“God, Lou, you’re such a drama queen. Go ahead. Give me the excuse you already created for yourself in that little head of yours.”

Louis sighed, rolling on his belly and placing his head on his hands, cheek flat on the sofa. “I don’t have one. Don’t fucking patronize me, alright? I like him. You were right. He’s like, addictive and I can’t keep cool around him, now that this has started I don’t think I can stop and I don’t even want to. I finished touring and I’ve literally got shit to do but write songs and record. I might as well bang that a few times. He’s going on tour after we drop the song, so we’ll just do a quick promo and then the person he wrote it for will want him back and I’ll smoke some weed until I’m good again. That’s all I’ve got. Voilà.”

“Babe. I’m not patronizing you, okay? I’m proud of you for going after what you want. Really. I just… I’ve seen you guys together. Like. Last night. I wasn’t there when he ran after you naked but Ellie and Niall told me, she thought it was so romantic she wants to write a song on it.”

“Your point?”

“My point… talk to him. Besides dirty talk. I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want him to hurt you but I don’t want you to hurt yourself either” he looked at him, preoccupied, “You tend to do that.”

“Look,” Louis stated, getting up to go get himself something to drink, “I’m okay with you playing my videogames and eating my food and shit. I’m even okay with you binge watching Tyra reruns in my absence. But if you’re smoking my weed without me, mate, I’m gonna get bitchy.”

“I’m assuming the conversation is over?” Zayn called from behind him.

“Yes!” he just replied, without turning to look at him.

“So…,” he heard Zayn ask, “How many times?”

He stopped on his steps, thumb pressing on a fresh mark on his right collarbone. “I honestly… lost count.”

 

The next day was a Friday, and Louis reached the studio listening to ‘Do I wanna know?’ on repeat.

He’d expected some text (well, sext) from Harry the evening before, but nothing had come yet when he’d fallen asleep.  
He’d tried to avoid the online tabloids speculating on who, among the gorgeous models and socialites and singers, who had attended Harry’s party, had ended up spending the night. All females, of course. After reading the piece on Harry’s sort-of outing, he was frankly disgusted at how the media seemed to dismiss anything that he said that didn’t fit with the idea they’d already built of him. He personally didn’t remember it ever being that hard, for him. Probably because he was dainty and flamboyant and lacked any chemistry whatsoever with any contracted female partner, but still. For all he knew, Harry could be bi or pan or anything. They simply didn’t have to rule out the fact that he could have spent the night with a bloke. Or with no one. Or even better, they shouldn’t have dared to speculate on the personal life of that sweet boy with an immense talent and a heart of gold. Louis felt enraged, he was so incredibly protective of him and wondered if he should have done more, in the past. But well. He was here now, and he wouldn’t let people hurt Harry. He’d gone to bed quite early, thinking about twenty-years-old Harry, a smoky room, Lana del Rey playing, _congratulations on your coming out, by the way... I was very proud of you_.  
Before finally closing his eyes, though, he had suddenly remembered something, grabbed his phone from his nightstand and typed a rapid text. Once he’d done that, he’d curled on a side and drifted off to sleep quite soon.

To: Ed ginger  
‘Mate, I owe you a beer. Make it ten. Explain once we’re both drunk. (: ’

In the morning, he’d found an enthusiastic reply from Ed, probably sent off when he was drunk (‘name the day, i’ll be there! XOXO gossip girl’) and text from Harry, among some from other people, that he blatantly ignored.

H:  
‘Can’t sleep, miss you. wanking to everything we did today (yesterday?? it’s 2 am so that would be more correct). ps did you know that you snore?’

He was already late, so he hadn’t replied. 

Of course, Harry ‘Nobody Likes Tardy People’ Styles was already in the studio when Louis walked in; sadly, Jamie and Mike were in with him. Harry got up to hug him, nonetheless, which wasn’t too different from their usual behaviour, even though this was a tight lock with Harry’s cheek squeezed on Louis’ shoulder, while usually they would go for a side-hug with a condiment of bromantic pats on the back.

Louis lifted his mouth to Harry’s ear. “I do not snore.” 

He also gave said ear a tiny, playful lick, for good measure, orienting Harry’s head so that the other men wouldn’t see. It was meant to be irritating, but Harry shuddered and when he let Louis’ go, his pupils were a little more blown than before.

Louis noticed their two mates were looking at them, so he put his hands in his pockets and walked to them. 

“Hey guys.” 

“Hey Tommo,” Mike greeted him, “You okay? You look… different.”

“I think he’s okay” Jamie intruded, a weird look on his face.

Harry giggled, ecstatic.

“I haven’t shaved,” Louis said, stupidly.

At this, Harry cackled, but Louis shot him a glare that had him all serious and slightly bothered within seconds.

“Do you want to start with the bridge, H?” Jamie said, gently avoiding to address the tension any further. “I think most of the vocals that we have are pretty good. Maybe we can redo something with the both of you together, just to mess around a bit with the sound?”

“Sure,” Harry nodded, walking to the recording room.

Louis shrugged off his bomber jacket and sat on the couch, crossing an ankle over his knee.

Well. Recording with Harry was always an emotional experience. But today, Harry’s big green eyes wouldn’t leave Louis for a second, his mouth looked bitten and wider than usual, he was so expressive and sensual that Louis had to cross his legs and press his arms on his crotch. The things was, he couldn’t tear his eyes off Harry’s. It was just them, and the guys’ presence was only background noise.

_Whatever chains are holding you back, holding you back_  
_Don't let 'em tie you down_  
_Whatever chains are holding you back, holding you back_  
_Tell me you believe in that_

Louis’ throat was dry and his eyes were prickling. Fuck. He used to be a man who did not cry.

“That was amazing, Harry!” he heard James say through the speaker.

_Yes._

“Go join him, Tommo.”

In a daze, Louis nodded and reached Harry, whose fawn eyes followed him from the door until he was standing in front of the second microphone, by his side.

“Hey,” Louis whispered.

Harry’s pinkie brushed his hand, hidden from the guy’s perspective, since the large rectangular glass that separated them only showed Harry and Louis from the stomach up. 

Louis hazarded to grab said pinkie, Harry’s entire hand curling around his. 

“Whenever you’re ready, guys,” Mike’s voice reached them.

“Take it from the second verse, please” Jamie added.

Harry’s hand left Louis’ to go cup this headphone, as he started to sing, turning his body toward Louis.

_“Through the wire, through the wire, through the wire, I’m watching you like this, imagining you’re mine.  
It’s too late, it’s too late, am I too late? Tell me now, am I running out of time?”_

Louis swallowed. There was nothing but Harry’s eyes.

_“With no way out and a long way down, everybody needs someone around, but I can’t hold you, too close now-”_

Harry put his mouth on Louis’ microphone, unexpectedly singing the final line with him, somewhat desperately.

_Through the wire, through the wire_

They went on to the chorus, still using the same microphone. 

_What a feeling to be right here beside you now,_  
_Holding you in my arms_  
_When the air ran out and we both started running wild_  
_The sky fell down_

Harry’s hands were on his headphones; Louis normally sang with a hand on his belly, the other brushed Harry’s elbow, almost by mistake, but stayed there. 

Harry’s eyes smiled, and it was a bloody sight. 

_But you've got stars, they're in your eyes_  
_And I've got something missing tonight_

Their voices harmonized together naturally, perfectly. The air around them was crackling. Louis was hypnotized by the movement of Harry’s lips.

_What a feeling to be a king beside you, somehow_  
_I wish I could be there now_

Louis stepped back then, letting Harry sing the bridge again. He didn’t know if they were supposed to stop, but there was magic around them, and tension, and art. He had shivers running down his spine when he sent a tiny smile at Harry and approached the microphone again, to sing the final chorus.

The final lyrics resonated in his mind for moments after they were done, still looking at each other, breathless.

_What a feeling to be a king beside you somehow, I wish I could be there now._  
_I wish I could be there now._

When they turned to face them, Jamie and Mike were staring at them, between awestruck and uncomfortable.

Harry stared at them, confused and overexcited, and Louis thought he was a talented genius but also a tiny precious baby.

Harry had opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, Jamie’s voice reached the soundproof room. “We’re gonna, uh, we’re gonna give you some time, guys. See you in… an hour, okay?”

At that, he and Mike rushed out, randomly grabbing their stuff from where they’d left them. Louis didn’t dare look at Harry until he saw the door of the other room click shut behind them. Then, he immediately did, seeing Harry’s two front teeth sinking in his bottom lip and his chin wobbling. As soon as their eyes met, they both exploded into hysterical laughter.

“What the fuck was that?!” Harry asked, voice absurdly pointed, crowding Louis with one hand on his cheek, one on his waist.

“Dude I don’t even know!” Louis chortled, looking up at him, both of them almost teary eyed from laughter. Harry walked him backwards, Louis keeping his balance by placing his hands on Harry’s chest. “They were so weirded out!”

Louis’ back hit the wall, Harry’s hand behind his head to buffer the bump. 

He threw his arms around Harry’s neck, Harry kissing the corner of his mouth, mumbling “That was incredible, Lou”

“Right?”

“Right,” Harry continued, gently nibbling at his neck, then losing control and starting to lick and pant on it, whilst slowly grinding his crotch on Louis’ more than half hard cock, “We sound so good together. Always sound so good.”

Louis moaned loudly, pulling Harry’s hair.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned against Louis’ shoulder, rutting harder on him.

“You like the pain, you fucking wanker,” Louis intended to giggle, but he came off way breathier and more affected than planned. “I’ll make good use of this information.”

“Please,” Harry whined, burning hands sneaking under Louis’ t-shirt. 

Louis was breathing heavily and letting Harry do all the work. His knees almost gave out when Harry kneeled, making him spin so he had his front stuck on the wall, one cheek glued to it, Harry’s large hand planted in the middle of his spine, then gliding down, down...  
When he felt the first prod of Harry’s tongue on his entrance, he opened his legs wider, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable, sensing his eyes go damp. 

( _“It takes a lot to make me tear up.”_

_“Oh, yes?”_ )

“Oh god” he hiccupped.

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Harry was breathing inside him, both his hands going to spread him open, “I promise.”

And fuck Louis’ life, if he wasn’t right. Harry was amazing at this, slow and hungry and teasing and then fast, relentless, only to slow down again when Louis was right on the edge. He added one finger next to his tongue until Louis begged for more, but even then, he made him wait for it.  
After a while, Louis was completely drenched in sweat, hair sticking to his forehead and nape, t-shirt pasted to his skin. 

“You’re gonna pay for this, Harold,” he cried, just as Harry picked up his pace, scissoring two fingers, stretching Louis just right and fucking him with his tongue at the same time. 

“I’m counting on it.”

Oh boy. Harry was a continue discovery. 

“Gonna come all over the studio wall, Lou?”

The teasing tone, that betrayed how actually ruined Harry was, pushed Louis to his much desired release. 

“Get something to wipe the wall, Harold.”

Harry was still on the floor and he looked up at him, confused, glancing for a second at the very obvious bulge in his skinny jeans.

Louis shrugged, leaning to pull up his own skinnies, that were laying around his ankles. “You took so long,” he just said, tone disappointed, “Now they’ll be back any minute. Sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”

Harry’s eyes went even wider, two black holes surrounded by a minuscule stripe of light green. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, going to grab some paper napkins to try and clean up the wall and Louis.

As predicted, their friends were back after a while (there would have been enough time to get Harry off, clearly, but oh well). They found Harry and Louis sitting on the floor of the recording room, since Harry wouldn’t leave it, given his current state. Louis was satisfied, sweaty and giggly. Harry was jittery, gloom and more beautiful than ever. 

“Let’s get back to work, babe,” Louis told him, getting up and lending him a hand to help him stand. When Harry was at his height, he whispered against his cheek, “Wait ‘til I get you home.”

Despite Jamie and Mike looking at them as if they were witnessing something utterly captivating and yet slightly embarrassing, and Harry being so turned on that his voice was two tones deeper, and Louis being so anxious to get him alone that his entire being vibrated with it … or maybe exactly for those reasons, the session that followed went brilliantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is decently edited, i'm sorry if it's not, i will get to it, of course, but i wanted to get it up asap as i'll be a bit busy later on.  
> ummm i don't know. the relationship took a turn, honestly i think it was the only way it could go, once the deed was done ;) there might be "drama" or slight angst again, but nothing major at this point, i think. more like trying to work out their misunderstandings, which are both their fault at this point. i hope you like it! :) i think this will overall have 15 chapters, so the end is approaching.


	12. The one where they have an alternative Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the studio, Harry drives sexy and has traditions for rainy days. Louis has deep thoughts and song lyrics mess with his head. Harry is upset and Louis can't leave him, but then they spend a long night, and Louis has to.

February 2017

It was about 7 pm when Harry and Louis rushed out of the studio, bumping shoulders and giggling like teenagers, running home from school knowing they’ll find an empty house.

“Me place or yours?” Louis asked as they stepped outside, hugging his wool and leather jacket on himself, realising it was way too cold for his outfit. He could at least have brought a scarf… Cons of being always late. (Not that there were any pros).

“I drove here. I’m closer, I think,” Harry replied, hurried, taking long strides that Louis followed with some effort. “Hey,” looking at him, he wrapped a strong arm around his shoulder, pressing Louis to himself, “You’re freezing.”

Louis bit his lip with a smile, leaning his head on Harry chest and letting himself be guided, “I like your coat.”

Harry kept him even tighter, rubbing his arm on his side to warm him up, “Thanks.” 

Puffs of their breath swirled in the chilly hair. 

“Here we are,” Harry pulled out the keys to unlock a black Range Rover. 

He opened the passenger door for Louis and then reached his side to get in.

Before he’d even started the engine, Louis had already shoved his face on Harry’s crotch. 

“I’m gonna crash the car,” Harry said, trying to sound calm, his knuckles going white around the steering wheel. 

Louis raised his eyes to him, hands stilling on the zipper on his jeans. He saw Harry’s throat bob and his jawline tighten. 

“You’re right,” he nodded, going back to sit upright, but keeping a hand on Harry’s thigh, “Plus, I didn’t edge you for over three hours just to go down on you in a freaking car.”

Seriously, Louis. Show some control.

“Right,” Harry chuckled, although tense. He had pulled out of the parking spot (why did Louis find that such an arousing skill?!) and Louis admired the fact that he wasn’t even speeding, despite how obviously eager he was to be home. 

Louis removed his hand from Harry’s leg and bit lightly on his thumb nail. 

“Still…” he scratched the back of his neck, turning to Harry, “I, uh, I mean… I don’t think the guys saw, behind the glass, but, of course, tell me if that made you, uh, uncomfortable or anything. I was a bit out of it but I’d never want to overstep.” 

“Which part of you rubbing me while we sang, when our collaborators could have seen, do I seem not to have enjoyed?”

Louis smiled, satisfied and a little bashful. “Good. Just… tell me to stop. If ever you want me to.”

“For future reference, my safe word is Saint Laurent,” Harry smirked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Louis scoffed, “Of course it is.”

Harry let out a bubbly giggle. How the fuck could he be so hot and manly and yet so cuddly and cute, hell, Louis would never get used to it.

He leaned back on the seat and stretched his feet on the dashboard, gaining a disapproving look from Harry, who, however, didn’t comment.

“It’s fucking cold,” Louis complained.

“Almost there,” Harry assured him, “Hey, and then we have LA. Will be cool, right?”

As for the promo part of the song, he and Harry had never discussed details. Their teams had met up and they were on it, leaving them to focus on the music and recording. But now, given the recent change in perspective, the idea of a trip with Harry acquired a whole new different taste.

“So cool, mate. You know, Zayn actually wanted me to believe it was today! He told me last night expecting me to freak out.”

Harry was amused. “Did you? I mean, would you even forget about leaving for the U.S. in a day?”

Louis shrugged, “Nothing that hasn’t happened before. But, I’d talked to James at your party, so I was on top of it.”

“On top,” Harry repeated, rolling the words on his tongue, dimple denting his cheek.

“On top,” Louis nodded. He pressed the heel of his hand on Harry's bulge, feeling giddy, and hooking his chin on the man’s shoulder. “Hurry,” he slurred.

Harry scrunched his nose, like he usually did when he wanted to keep serious but couldn’t. On his pursed lips, Louis saw the shadow a wide grin.

Harry did speed up and mere minutes later they were driving through the gardens of Harry’s building; safety be damned, Harry pressed on the accelerator even more, reaching the garage with a roaring noise and then not so smoothly slowing down.

“All these beauties are yours?” Louis asked, eyeing the three sports cars next to where Harry was parking his own. He fluttered his eyelashes on Harry’s cheek, purring, more or less jokingly, “That’s so sexy.”

Harry guffawed, but then gulped. “Don’t pretend like you don’t collect expensive cars, Lou.”

“But I don’t,” Louis pouted, “I mean, I have a few, but I’m guessing these aren’t half of this,” he made air quotes, “‘collection’ of yours.” 

Harry just rolled his eyes, taking the key from the car, that stopped buzzing, “I only have three more, in LA”

“Only,” Louis quirked his eyebrows. 

They both got off the car, meeting again in front of it.

“Oi,” Harry was saying, “I’m pretty sure you have a plane.”

“You don’t?” Louis was genuinely surprised.

He checked out the cars as they were crossing Harry’s carport to reach two steps that led to a grey door.

“I like flying with people.”

“So quirky,” Louis teased him, poking Harry’s ribs as they stopped in front of the door and he pulled out another key. “A man of the people. Harry Styles: the popstar who flies low cost!”

Harry’s head snapped to look at him, as the door clicked open. One of his sneaky hands was on Louis’ back and he pulled him to bump on his chest. 

“Are you done?” he drawled, hot breath in Louis’ ear. 

Louis counterattacked by pressing him to the doorframe, sliding one of his thighs between his legs. “Aw. Look at him go. He’s all bossy when he’s clearly just dying to get fucked.”

Harry exhaled a high-pitched whine, nodding his head twice, almost imperceptibly. 

Louis laughed a bit, satisfied. He begrudgingly detached himself from Harry, taking his hand to drag him to the lift, as he now seemed to be a little unfocused, eyes black and mouth slightly agape.

It occurred to Louis has this was the first time they’d properly held hands, and that their different sizes and structures fit together like they were meant to be.

He pushed the button to call the lift while intertwining his other hand’s fingers with Harry’s.

Harry was looking at their joined hands with a soft smile.

“This is nice,” he whispered, without specifying what he meant. But, whatever that was, Louis agreed.

“Yeah.”

When the lift arrived, they got in, standing next to each other with their shoulders brushing, still holding hands. Louis could have only imagined the ride with some serious snogging, dry humping and maybe the clothes would have come off before they reached the top floor. And instead… The tension between them was still sizzling, but a quieter, sweeter mood had coated them like honey. They’d craved it for so long, and now, he thought, he just wanted to take it slow. Slower. He wanted hand holding and soft kisses and he wanted to have dinner, too. He wanted to rile Harry up and to treat him right. He wanted to fuck him into oblivion and cuddle him to sleep. God, Harry was so surprising. He was so deep and real and it made Louis feel all types of ways.

The automatic doors opened and Louis led Harry in, without even turning the lights on, the city bright enough beside them. He left him on the sofa with a soft push to his shoulders, already feeling at ease in the other man’s place.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Harry said, eyes sparkling in the dark.

“I want to.”

Harry smiled and bent over, taking off his boots and then neatly placing them on a side, near the armrest. 

Louis felt his eyes follow him until he was out of sight.  
Once in the kitchen, he had to make peace with the fact that he was the most horrendous cook known to man. If it wasn’t for the nice people in his life who’d vowed to feed him, he probably would have starved. Or just stuffed his face with cereal. 

He opened Harry’s tidy and fully stocked fridge for inspiration, praying for party leftovers, which would have been only two days old, after all… But of course, there wasn’t none. Luckily, Harry himself did love to cook and stock up, it seemed. Now, it wasn’t very romantic to feed him stuff that he’d made himself, but Louis objected to himself that a) he wasn’t trying to be romantic and b) it was still more romantic that spending the night with food poisoning or calling the firemen. Especially the firemen. He couldn’t forget Liam’s music video from 2015… Those were buff guys. He couldn’t have Harry look at them. Anyway. He found something that he could work with, used a stool to grab a big tray on one of the highest shelves, arranged everything prettily and went back to Harry, who – the fucker – had lit up a few candles in the otherwise dark room. 

Vanilla and cinnamon.

Louis swallowed sharply, his heart suddenly drumming in his ears. 

Harry’s iPhone had been plugged to the speakers’ system on a side of the wide room, playing in a mildly low volume; luckily it wasn’t Lana, otherwise Louis would have fainted from flashbacks. He thought he recognised ‘Live forever’ by Oasis, but he couldn’t even be sure, because Harry stared at him so, so intense…

“Hey, so,” he cleared his throat, having realised he sounded raspier than usual. “Thanks to, well, thanks to you, we have hummus, carrots and celery, that you’d already peeled and cut, which was amazing, and cheese. Which I cut. And crackers. And grapes.”

He sat next to Harry, bending his knees to balance the tray on them, after having kicked off his shoes so he could rest his feet on the leather seat. He was wearing socks with weed on them.

“It’s perfect,” Harry said, serious.

Louis shrugged one shoulder, feeling himself blush under Harry’s rapt attention, “I intended on feeding you leftovers from your birthday but I found none. You got lucky. I guess your guest were fucking leeches.”

Harry smiled, “Amazing. Um, no, you know, I let Lea have my leftovers. She is so hardworking and I pay her well, but she has three lovely kids and I doubt they can afford a gourmet meal. When I’m alone I have them come here and we have a little party of our own, otherwise, you know. She knows that every time I have an event of sorts, she can have a free day after cleaning and just, like, pick up everything, have at it with her kids. I didn’t want to, like, offend her, but-”

Louis had hastily placed the tray on the coffee table and thrown his arms around Harry’s neck, unable to suppress his need to kiss him, bruising, on the lips. He’d thrown them both off balance, so Harry was leaning on the armrest and Louis was on him. 

After half a moment of pleased shock, Harry’s hands cupped his cheeks and he opened his mouth, kissing Louis back fervently. 

“You,” Louis said, between kisses, Harry sliding lower until he was leaning his head against the armrest, Louis on top of him, “Are,” Louis pecked his lips, “An angel.”

He distanced himself just enough to grab a cracker and the pot of hummus from the platter, not losing his balance as he stretched his arm because Harry was holding him in place. 

“Eat,” he commanded, placing the cracker in Harry’s mouth. To avoid choking, Harry straightened up a bit, resting his elbows on the armrest. 

Instead of watching him chew, for how fascinating that might have been, Louis stuck a finger in the hummus and gave it a taste. Needless to say, it was bloody amazing. 

“This, too,” Louis added, taking another abundant dollop of the creamy dip on his finger and presenting it to Harry.

Harry had this annoyingly adorable habit of eating tongue first. Another thing that would haunt Louis forever. Harry’s tongue stuck out before his lips gently wrapped around Louis’ index, then let it slip out of his mouth with a playful grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

Louis was in a trance for a few seconds, vanilla and cinnamon and Oasis and dim, flickering candle light filling his senses; inhaling and exhaling slowly, in time with Harry, straddling his hips. 

Then he woke up, got up to pick up the tray and saw that Harry was sitting straight, socked feet on the sofa, legs wide open for him to cuddle up into, against Harry’s chest.

He did.

Harry opened his mouth languidly, and Louis placed a grape in it, his finger brushing Harry’s bottom lip in the process.

Everything was slow, their chests moving in unison, their breathing relaxed. Harry’s hands were around Louis’ waist as Louis held the platter. He picked at some cheese, sticky on his hands.

“C’mon,” he nudged Harry’s cheek, “Open up. You gotta eat.”

Harry accepted the bite, but pouted after having swallowed it, “You eat too. You’re spoiling me.”

“Don’t be silly,” Louis replied, although he did take a piece of cheese for himself, “I had a burger and fries with the lads at the studio. You barely ate two fries.”

“You had your hand down my pants for twenty minutes before we joined them into the other room,” Harry pointed out. “I wasn’t hungry.”

“True,” Louis titled his head to a side, giving a satisfied nod, “Well I’m sorry. You have to eat though, so that’ll never happen again.”

Harry surprised him with a quick peck on the cheek, that weirdly set his guts on fire, somehow more than the fact that he was basically sitting against Harry’s dick. 

“You’re so cute. And also, it _will_ happen again,” Harry stated, then added, squeezing Louis a little tighter, “Please. I loved it.”

Louis smiled, painfully aware that he would never be able to deny this boy anything, except maybe his orgasm. Which he couldn’t even deny him to deny. That made sense.

The song in the background changed to a bass riff that Louis was very familiar with. 

Harry started singing, low drawl infiltrating Louis’ bones, making him shiver, “I’m a puppet on a string, Tracy Island, time-traveling, diamond could’ve shaped heartaches, come to find you four in some velvet morning years too late-”

“Okay okay” he laughed, placing a hand on his mouth. “I get what you were trying to do here.”

Harry opened his eyes wide, fake innocent, “I don’t know what-”

“Mm,” Louis nodded, kissing him again. 

This time, the tray slipped between them as Louis turned, and fell on the floor.

The slick sound of their mouths, tongues and light wet moans filled the room, melding with Arctic Monkeys.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you,” Louis whispered against Harry’s lips, trapping one of his wrists with his hand and lifting Harry’s arm over his head. He did the same with the other, the arm where Harry wore his bracelet. “With your sex playlist and shit.”

“Well it worked, so.”

“Fuck, you’re so smug,” Louis gave a determined roll of his hips on Harry’s groin. “So punchable”

“Wanna punch me?” Harry panted obscenely, arching his back to meet Louis’ body.

Louis kept on grinding on him, but freed his wrists to run his hands underneath Harry’s cardigan and shirt, “I actually wanted to be sweet with you.”

“Maybe I don’t want that,” Harry challenged him. 

“You’re impossible,” Louis grumbled, “Turn around.”

Harry’s pupils widened, but didn’t act.

“I said, turn around. Don’t make me repeat it.”

Hurriedly, Harry obliged. 

Louis’ hand slid under him to unbutton his jeans and roughly pull them down to his knees. 

“I should just do you like this, right?” he said, scratching Harry’s bum with one hand, “Won’t even take off your clothes. You just want it so bad.”

Harry nodded frantically, rendered speechless. 

“Wait,” he told Harry, who was breathing heavily, hands and one cheek on the armrest, legs trapped by his own jeans.

He made his way to the bathroom, which was humongous, but way more classic than Harry’s brothel upstairs, clearly meant for everyday guests. Finding the lube and some condoms in one of the drawers, Louis took a mental note to travel with some on him at every moment. And shit, he didn’t do this anymore since he was twenty and horny out of his mind.

He caught a glimpse of himself at the mirror, reddish beard, messy hair and lovebites on his neck. 

Then, he rushed back to Harry. No, not rushed. That would have ruined the mood. So he walked, calm and collected, to Harry.

“You don’t come until I say so,” he said, opening Harry’s legs and sitting between them. “Understood?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. You don’t bottom often, do you? You seem a bit overwhelmed,” he asked, conversationally, as he uncapped the lube and coated two of his fingers with it. 

Harry shook his head, his hair moving like a halo around it.

“You can talk, you know,” Louis smiled, hoping Harry could feel it in his tone, even though he was out of his sight.

“I,” Harry swallowed audibly, “I know.”

“Okay…” Louis teased his rim with one finger, his other hand keeping Harry well spread. “So, are you, uh, you good?”

Harry just nodded.

Louis’ finger caressed him but didn’t do anything else.

“How do you feel about, uh, Saint Laurent?”

At that, Harry cackled. It was like a rock being lifted from the bottom of Louis’ stomach.

“Hate the guy,” Harry giggled, “Seriously, Lou. You’re amazing. I’m okay.”

“Alright,” at that, Louis pushed his finger in, adoring how Harry clenched around him, so warm and unbelievably tight.

“Oh god,” Harry moaned, his fingers digging in the armrest. 

Louis withdrew his finger and pressed it back it, back and forth, starting to curl it inside Harry, until the man’s breathing was so ragged that Louis thought he might come just from this.

“Another… please,” Harry begged so weakly, so prettily, that Louis gave him what he wanted in no time.

His own senses were overstimulated, with Harry, the smell, the atmosphere, the lights. The music. Harry.

_And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways,_  
_So in case I'm mistaken,_  
_I just wanna hear you say_  
_You got me baby_  
_Are you mine?_

Harry was pushing back on his fingers as he scissored them, his velvety wet walls getting ready for Louis’. He himself had to bite back a moan. He added a third digit without warning Harry, who keened at the sensation, purring like a cat. Louis increased his pace until Harry was hiccupping moans and profanities. Louis’ free hand was leaving a bruise on the side of Harry’s waist and Louis felt unbearably hot, also given that he had all of his clothes on. He scratched Harry’s hip. 

Harry threw his head back, rambling, “So amazing, Lou, I love this, I love this.”

Something hit Louis in the gut. He felt overflowing with emotion and extracted his hand from Harry, gaping with desire at the way he clenched on nothing. 

“Fuck this,” Louis muttered, tugging Harry’s arm to make him turn and going to take off his cardigan. “Fuck this. Give me a kiss.”

Harry responded hungrily, letting Louis undress him and opening Louis’ jeans in return, trying not to detach their swollen lips. They kissed for a while, messily, Harry’s hands running all over Louis’ body, especially once his tee was discarded, joining Harry’s clothes and their food on the floor. Lastly, Louis shimmied out of his jeans and pants, Harry already completely naked, writhing underneath him. He held onto Louis’ shoulder, as Louis lifted his bum enough for the both of them to be comfortable. Harry’s strong legs wrapped around him. He was so sweaty and red and tender and Louis wanted him so much.  
He teared open a condom and put it on, eyes on Harry’s outrageous body, especially on the butterfly on his stomach, that looked almost as if it was ready to fly with how tense Harry’s muscles were beneath it.

At this point, Louis was pretty sure Elvis was playing in the background. But maybe it was all in his head. _Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can’t help…_

He caressed Harry’s face, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“What even are you?” he whispered, starting to push in. 

The pleasure was so intense he had to stop speaking in order to find the ability to move; long, driven, rhythmic thrusts that had Harry’s body shake all over. Louis kept on caressing his face; Harry opened his eyes to look at him.

“You’re so perfect,” Louis was murmuring, faintly aware that he probably looked possessed, because somehow, he was. “Such a good boy. You know that, right? You’re so good, baby. You’re so so good.”

Harry’s face was reddened and blotchy and his eyes were damp and glistening. Louis meant every word.

_Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be_

He leaned down to kiss him, even though it ended up being panting in each other’s mouths, Louis trying not to go too fast, but always deeper.

Harry was starting to moan louder and louder, desperately holding on to Louis’ face, his neck, his shoulder blades, his waist.

Louis collapsed on him, his movements getting more and more frantic, feeling himself get close.

“You can come whenever you want, baby,” he slurred on Harry’s collarbone, “God knows I made you wait.”

“You first,” Harry’s voice was a beautiful rumble and it made Louis wild.

“So stubborn,” Louis shook his head, “Come on. You’ll faint if you don’t let go, love.”

At that, suddenly, Harry did let go, endless hot stripes between their slick bodies, some landing on Louis’ belly and chest. 

“Keep going,” he told Louis in a broken whisper, bending his neck to lick some drops of his own come that had reached Louis’ collarbones.

Louis did; he kept on pushing hard, frenetically chasing his own breaking point, which hit him less than a minute later, spurred on by Harry, languid, destroyed, that tasted himself on his skin.

He pulled out immediately, considering that Harry must have been already oversensitive, knotted the top of the condom and left it on the floor, beside his own shoes. He fell on Harry, whose arms were already open for him to fit into.

Harry kissed the top of his head. “You know,” he said, in his usual drawl, but even more syrupy than usual, “When you asked me if I bottom often. I don’t. I wanted to tell you it’s because I find it hard to meet someone who can _dominate_ me. I wanted to provoke you.”

“Sounds like you,” Louis agreed, but he knew Harry wasn’t finished. 

After chuckling under his breath, Harry went on, “Yeah. But… That wouldn’t have been entirely true, though. I mean, it was cool and you can, like, go further next time. But. I don’t know. I think, in the end, I find it hard to meet someone I can trust. To give me, like, what I want. Before I even know I want it. Does it make sense?”

Louis was pretty sure Harry could hear his heart beating against his own. He laid there, eyes wide open, in the obscurity, Harry’s hand pressing on the flesh of his arm. Their sweaty bodies glued together, Harry’s head leaning on top of his. And if he’d opened his mouth right then, he wouldn’t have been responsible of what could have come out. 

So, he took a deep breath, nuzzled Harry’s neck and braced himself to say something less extreme than what was buzzing in his head. Fuck Harry and his random playlist of sex jams and romantic shit.

_(Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can't help... )_

Louis traced Harry’s bird tattoo with a finger. “Makes perfect sense. I get you, baby. Always will.” 

(In all honesty… Maybe this had come off worse than Elvis).

He felt Harry exhale a long, content breath.

“Hey, Lou,” Harry said after a while. Louis could already sense a bad joke in the air, “You gave me rabbit food.”

“What?!” Louis rolled to look at him, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh come on! All of those veggies?! There’s even carrots.”

“I’m so offended right now. I don’t even know why I like you.”

Harry scrunched his nose in that typical way of his. “You… like me?”

Louis turned his head, staring at the backrest of the sofa but feeling Harry’s heart beating under his cheek.

“No, no. You’re just really well-hung.”

“Right,” Harry started combing Louis’ short fringe with delicate fingers, glancing at him under heavy eyelids. “Well, same.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“No problem.”

‘Thinking out loud’ started playing. Louis needed to arrange those beers with Ed. He was tired. He closed his eyes and let Harry’s humming lull him to unconsciousness.

He woke up not too long later, because he didn’t feel particularly well rested, nor like it was another year, which was the usual effect of a long unplanned nap on him. He had a red plaid blanket on him and Harry was sitting on the floor, his back against an accent chair and a mug with a rainbow on it in his hands. He was wearing his obnoxious Gucci cardigan with nothing underneath but black pants and grey speckled socks up to mid-calf. 

The rabbit food had been taken away and everything looked proper and clean.

Louis rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Hey. There’s tea,” Harry smiled and nodded his head to the crystal coffee table, where a light blue mug laid on a wooden coaster, with a tiny plate on it to prevent the heat from dispersing.

“Thanks,” Louis wrapped the blanket around himself as some sort of toga, given he was still naked, and took the cup, leaving the plate on the table. He took a sip. “This is perfect”, then added, “Mate. Cheers.”

“Well, I should know how you take your tea by now.” 

“You… Yeah, I guess.”

Lightning struck outside, both Louis and Harry rapt by it for a moment. A loud thunder followed.

“Um,” Harry turned to him as a heavy rain started pouring down. “How do you feel about scrabble?”

“How do you feel about getting your ass destroyed?”

“We both know how I feel about that.”

“Then get it! Hey, I meant the scrabble! Wipe off that fuckface.”

Harry’s guffaw echoed through the living room. Louis put his pants back on, deciding for the rest that the house heating system allowed him to stay like this, arranging the blanket on his shoulders and around his neck as a cape.

Harry came back after slightly too long, balancing two plates that smelled incredible on the scrabble box, turning some lights on with his shoulder on his way.

Louis looked up at him. “Are those… cinnamon rolls?! Like the Ikea ones?”

“These are homemade, excuse you” Harry placed the box on the coffee table, handing one of the plates to Louis, with a small golden fork resting next to the heavenly smelling sticky bun.

“You made these. While I created a cap with your blanket and couldn’t even get a text back from me sister.”

Harry sat down across from him, “I just threw them into the oven. I make a lot and freeze them. You know… for a rainy day.”

“A pun. You always know how to turn a man on,” Louis joked, as he picked up the fork and dug in unceremoniously. It must have been way past eight, by now, and he was starving. Unsurprisingly, the thing was scrumptious, soft and sticky, not exaggeratedly sweet, but just enough to be addictive.

“Literally, though,” Harry explained, after taking a bite himself, while they started opening and setting the scrabble. “When I still lived in Holmes Chapel, before Gemma left for uni, we had this tradition when it rained hard. Just scrabble and baking. I used to be a baker, so I was in charge of most of it, which also allowed Gems to cheat with the letters, but still… and mum and Gemma loved these especially. So I make them when I’m stressed. And I still do this thing, when it rains a lot and I’m home. Um, minus the scrabble, if I’m alone, of course.”

Louis was looking at him, having almost forgotten how to chew. “You miss them a lot, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, glancing down. “Every day. But now I’m in London, so it’s cool. It’s just… I feel like, I like LA, I like being there, the vibe and the lifestyle. I didn’t think it would suit me, but it does. But then I think of how much my life has changed and I just want to be home. And I don’t know what home is anymore.”

His voice broke infinitesimally at the end of the sentence; Louis blinked rapidly, eyes burning. He left the plate on the table and crawled closer to Harry, his blanket-cape scraping the soft white carpet.

“Home is,” he said, clearing his throat after hearing himself, then retrying, “Home is a feeling. Like your song, right? What a feeling to… Uh, well you know how that goes. No matter where you are. You’re never alone, and once you see that, you’ll be at home. You’ll get there.”

Harry looked at him, the clear green of his eyes magnified by the redness surrounding the irises. “Do you feel at home?”

Louis gave his hand a squeeze, “I do,” he said, without elaborating (maybe not even to himself). He got back to his place and to his cake, “So, how painful do you want it?”

Harry snorted a laugh. The Beatles were playing; the storm was raging around them. Louis’ tea was lukewarm and he felt at peace.

 

“I told you I would crush you,” Louis bragged, helping Harry to collect the tiles.

“Then it appears that you were lying, as you clearly lost.”

“Would you _stop_?! You can’t just use your own bogus count.”

“You mean the one where I only count the words which exist?”

“I mean the one where you’re not a sore loser!” Louis threw him a letter, hitting him on the shoulder.

“Wha-” Harry’s eyes widened in shock, he grabbed the whole sack of letters and launched himself on Louis, throwing him on the floor as Louis struggled to push him away by his wrists. Harry dumped the whole bag on his head as they tumbled on the carpet in a rain of scrabble tiles.

Louis took advantage of the fact that Harry appeared to have lost his drive for a second, as he was looking at his lips, apparently lost to Louis had tightened his grip on his wrist. Like that, Louis managed to get the upper hand and make them switch position, so he was on top, straddling Harry’s hips and punishingly holding his wrists. Harry had stopped fighting and looked at him with lust in his eyes.

“Say it,” Louis ordered.

“What?” Harry pretended not to understand.

“Say it,”

“Vampire?” Harry said, with a choked, self-satisfied laugh.

Louis fell on him, pressing his wrists on the floor above his shoulders.

“I’m not sure I heard well,” he hissed, his nose brushing Harry’s, taking in the boy’s ragged breathing. “Repeat,” he turned his head to place an ear on Harry’s mouth, so close that his warm, tiny pants tickled him.

“Take me again.”

Blood rushed to Louis’ head and cock.

This time, he did take Harry from behind, bending him against the sofa, Harry gripping the cushions and Louis gripping Harry’s hair and hips and the both of them frantically holding on to each other.

 

Louis had showered alone, since Harry apparently needed to make a phone call. He’d used Harry’s bathroom, just because. Also, Harry had clearly implied him going there, so. It’s not like he was addicted to those hipster shower butters or anything.  
He’d redressed in his own clothes, even though he wasn’t a fan of doing it after a shower. But it was 10 pm on a Friday night, so it was only safe to assume that Harry had plans, Louis couldn’t possibly stay. Oh. But it was storming. Well, anyways… He couldn’t be so impolite as to assume that Harry would want to keep him much longer. Maybe he was having friends over or whatever; the call had seemed pretty urgent, which it wouldn’t have been, given the weekend was around the corner, unless it was about tonight.  
Louis, however, had no intention of intruding another phone call, since the first one still haunted him enough, to the point of being the reason for his mood darkening significantly, in the shower, thinking of how Harry had stuff to do with other people he cared about. Not that he didn’t care about Louis. Just… the song.

So, Louis stayed in Harry’s room, busying himself with some texts and emails, until he heard Harry’s socked feet approaching.

“Louis” he just said, peeping in and oh. So Louis had been right. Harry looked harsh, serious, a tension in his jaw that didn’t mean arousal. Maybe Harry had realised that fucking around with Louis wouldn’t have got him back with ‘dress is catching the light’ and he wanted to kick him out. Still, that would have been a bit impolite. Maybe Louis was overreacting.

“I was just going,” he said, getting up, “Have a nice night, Harry.”

Harry had a deep crease between his eyebrows. “Why?”

“I, ah, I wouldn’t want to mess with your plans for the night.”

“I don’t have any plans. It’s pouring,” Harry just said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world (which it was, to a certain extent, but still, it didn’t mean that Harry wanted to spend his entire Friday night with him). 

“True, true,” Louis nodded, “But, you know…” What did he want to say again? “I have stuff…” _Lie_.

“I see. Well I mean you fucked me twice already. Might as well just be on your way now, right?”

Louis almost jolted back, as if he’d been slapped. He’d never heard Harry so snappy, so bitter. And he wouldn’t stand being here, being treated like that, because he was the one who was drowning in this, while Harry played with him like his new favourite toy and then was off writing love songs about someone else.

“Right,” he replied, trying to sound cutting and not hurt, “I mean unless you want to go again, maybe you’d be less bitchy if you got some.”

Harry’s throat bobbed. “Don’t think this is turning me on.”

“No, I _know_ it’s turning you on.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Well then maybe just go for it. I’m all yours,” he opened his arms, challenging Louis with a smug face, but not his usual grin. Something was wrong, Harry was cold as ice.

“Harry,” Louis called him. He was so distant and it broke his heart. “Hey. Would you look at me?”

Instead, Harry marched toward his bed, stripped off his cardigan, which he was still wearing on only his pants, and climbed under the covers. 

“This is my Friday night. It’s pretty pathetic, so if you don’t want to get me off, then please just leave. Turn off the light.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Louis replied, reaching him on the bed, where he sat next to Harry, but outside the covers, being all dressed. He kicked off his shoes to put his feet on the duvet and hug his knees, turning to Harry. He was dramatically hidden under the covers, quilt up on his face, like the towel in his dressing room, years before. Louis’ heart sunk. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. ‘M tired,” Harry muttered from under the covers.

“Okay,” Louis nodded, jumping off the bed. “Can you lend me something clean then?”

Harry’s eyes peeped out, “What?”

“I’m not sleeping in your bed in dirty clothes. Heaven knows what happened in these.”

Louis couldn’t see it, hidden under the duvet, but he was pretty sure Harry was scrunching his nose very hard right now.

“Help yourself,” he said, evidently trying to sound neutral, if not displeased. Or maybe he even was, but Louis didn’t care. He wasn’t going to leave him in this state anyways.

Louis walked to the dressing room, then into the closet. He picked up a simple black tee, a little sheer, and black pants. He shouldn’t have noticed how comfortable he felt in Harry’s clothes, but alas, he did. He took off his weed socks and, for once, he tried to fold everything nicely, before placing it on a pouf on a side of the wide room. 

Once he got out, and back into Harry’s bedroom, he turned off the lights. He lifted the covers delicately, Harry turned with his back to him, all curled up in himself. He smiled to himself slipping his legs under the duvet: it had been years since he’d gone to bed before the am. 

Harry hadn’t moved, so Louis didn’t dare touch him. Just, looking at him like this, tiny under the heavy, puffy quilt, trying to sleep, in a foetal position, when he was very obviously still awake. He was so young, Louis thought. Of course, he was fairly young himself. But Harry looked so mature, he was so woke, well-spoken, he hung out with people that went from their early thirties to being double his age. And yet, Harry was a baby. He was even tiny, seen like this, narrow hips and lean arms, long white neck under that mass of unruly hair.

“Goodnight, Harry” Louis said, curling on himself and closing his eyes. 

He wasn’t even sleepy and he didn’t even know what he was doing here, at the time where he’d usually pregame with shots or joints at a friend’s, in Harry’s bed because Harry was what, grumpy? Honestly. This was getting stupider by the moment. And yet, Louis couldn’t bring himself to leave. He turned so that his back was to Harry, wishing that he’d remember where his phone was, wondering why was it that when he’d be spending time with Harry, he would forget about everything else. He remembered sending off a few work emails while waiting for Harry to come up, but the phone wasn’t on his bedside table, of course. (Not _his_ , of course. the one on his side of the bed, no, the one on the side of _Harry’s_ bed that he was currently occupying).  
He couldn’t say how long it lasted. He tried to fall asleep but couldn’t. Tried to think about something that wasn’t Harry. But couldn’t.

With some ruffling noises, so perceptible in the otherwise still air, Harry was moving on the bed.  
Louis felt his eyes on the back on his neck, giving him chills from his temples to his toes.

“I argued with my team,” Louis heard him say.

Swallowing, he turned around, to face him in the obscure room. Harry’s eyes were moist, glistening, like lighthouses in the storm of his face.

“I’m sorry,” he just replied, not wanting to push for more, and kind of already knowing what Harry had argued about.

“I’m sorry I lashed out, Louis. It had nothing to do with you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Would you stop being so nice?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I’m not that nice.”

Harry was blinking at him, just a trace of moonlight on his cheekbone and on the slope of his nose. “Yes you are,” he whispered, scooting a little bit closer.

Louis kept their eyes locked.

“I was on the phone with my management,” Harry said, “And my PR team is such shit. They’ve been pushing me to do stuff… that I don’t want to do, and I feel so lame, because I’m still doing it.”

Louis winced. Of course, he knew what this was about, and he knew very well what he did to people, especially young people like them, still trying to figure themselves out and yet told what kind of image to show to the world, one that, if unlucky, you’d be stuck with forever. 

“It’s a contract, Harry,” he said, calmly. “You can’t break it. That doesn’t make you lame. If anything, it makes you brave. I read about your recent, uh, statement, ‘not that important’, and I was really proud. I’m sorry for not telling your before. I still remember what you told me after I came out. It meant a lot.”

Harry came closer again. This time, Louis did the same. 

“You meant a lot to me,” Harry replied. 

Their voices were nothing but soft whispers exchanged in the ever diminishing space between them.

Louis wet his lips by pressing them together, looking for something to say, but all would have been too much, or not enough.

Harry was the one to close the distance, pressing a kiss on Louis’ lips and then withdrawing, continuing to talk.

“I told them I wouldn’t go tonight,” he said, suddenly way harsher, and rushed. 

Louis smiled and awarded him with another tiny peck. “Good.”

“And they only accepted because of the rain” Harry murmured, this time placing a soft hand on Louis’ cheek and leaving it there.

Louis gave him another short kiss. “The rain?” his tone was amused, but he could tell Harry was still off and it upset him too. He caressed Harry’s bicep lightly. 

Harry sighed, “It wouldn’t work well with the outfits. Like, what is my fucking life?!”

“It’s borderline hilarious, mate.”

At that, Harry kissed him a tad deeper, longer. “Stop calling me mate.”

Louis giggled. It was refreshing, he thought, having such a deep conversation but still feeling like his insides were sparkling. 

“Alright… mate,” he pursed his lips, mischievous. 

Harry’s hand tightened on his jaw, Harry rolled on him and kissed him fiercely, his whole body keeping Louis down.

He pulled away, hoisting himself up with bulging biceps; lips still parted, he was staring at Louis with that intensity that made him feel completely exposed.

“I think you like it,” Louis exhaled. 

Harry quirked his eyebrows.

Louis continued, “You’re just looking for an excuse to kiss me.”

…

“Hey, anyway, I have to go tomorrow, and it’s going to be over the top, it’s like they want to get back at me because they know I’m dropping them as soon as I can. Management, label, PR. The lot. But, like… It’s hard, and at times I ask myself, what if I can’t do it alone?”

“Harry… It’s not like you’re alone.”

… 

“Lou, you awake?”

“Mh.”

Harry pecked his lips. 

“Do you ever wonder, like, what would your life be if you hadn’t signed that contract and stuff? I’d probably still be a baker. It would be so much easier. Maybe a lawyer, actually.”

“I would have studied drama, I think.”

“Do you think we’d have met?”

Louis kissed him briefly. They were so close, tangled in each other, that it was just natural.

“I don’t know… It’s possible, I guess? Maybe in Manchester for uni? Our hometowns are in the same area, kind of.”

“Maybe we’d be roomies. And best friends.” Harry suggested.

“Aw,” Louis kissed him again, brushing his hair off his forehead. 

“Can you imagine… There’s the two of us in every universe.”

“I don’t know if I believe in parallel universes, to be honest.”

“Ugh, Louis,” Harry poked Louis’ ribs, making him squirm and giggle under his breath. Then, he kissed his neck, almost innocently, “Indulge me here.”

“Alright, alright,” Louis agreed, crossing his fingers around Harry’s neck, lightly scratching him. “So, there’s this world where you’re, uh, let’s see… a photographer. A struggling photographer. Can’t even pay the rent of your crappy London studio. So one night, a friend suggests you to visit seekingarrangements.com. And-”

“A sugar baby?!” Harry laughed. “I mean!”

“I mean, you would so do it.”

“Mm. Might be right. That’d be a recipe for disaster, though.”

Louis pulled himself closer to Harry, inhaling his scent and curling the hair at the back of the boy’s head with his fingers. “Why?” he asked in a small voice, closing his eyes.

“We’d fall in love.”

Louis didn’t reply, but nuzzled Harry’s neck.

… 

“It’s like… I try to make people see me, I really fucking _try_ , but they still don’t. Twelve-year-old girls ask me to fuck them on twitter, like. I don’t know what to do anymore. I try and be myself but to them I’m this other person and I hate him, man. I want to break free but I keep on being brushed off and it’s just so frustrating.”

“Baby.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Lack of sleep, unhealthy eating-”

“Can you stop?” Louis wiped Harry’s eyes with his thumbs, then pressed his head to his chest. He didn’t think anything they would ever do together could be more intimate than the feel of Harry’s tears dampening his shirt.

… 

“Would you fuck me, Louis? Make me forget about everything,” Harry dug his head in the pillow, his long neck flexing back, chest raising and falling slowly.

Louis rolled on top of him, flat on his body as their legs tangled together. Harry raised his head to kiss him and Louis opened his mouth easily, while running his hands in the boy’s hair. 

“No,” he said, firm. 

Harry flipped them so he was on top of him, holding himself up with his arms, then lowering slowly until he was just a breath away from Louis. “Why?” he whispered, just a second before their tongues met.

“Because you’re not in your right mind. You’re vulnerable and I won’t take advantage of it.”

“You can see me like this… I trust you,” Harry kept on kissing him, their bodies flush together.

“I know.”

“I don’t care,” Harry panted, nonsensically, dragging wet lips on Louis’ chest.

Somehow, Louis got him nonetheless. “I do.”

Louis woke up around lunch time, alone; in his head, blurry memories of seeing the sun come up with Harry, from the bed, mixed with whispered confessions that would stay with him forever, the taste of Harry’s tears, the sound of his dorky laughter, the feeling of Harry’s lips still on him, everywhere. 

Beside him, where Harry would be, was a note. Of course, impeccably chic stationery paper and a neat handwriting, in what appeared to be a dust blue fountain pen.

‘Good morning. I’m much better now. I had to go, but you slept so well… Please stay as long as you like. There’s food. Thanks for being there. Thanks for not always giving me what I want. xx H’

 

Articles about Harry brunching with his new ‘mysterious model lady friend’ were already out by the time Louis left Harry’s place. He felt a bit bad to leave him alone after stunting, especially after the way Harry had laid it all on him as the am caught us, red-eyed, rambling lucidly, hot bodies snug on each other under the cloud of covers. Clearly, he wanted to be there for Harry, and he would be. But waiting for the man to come back, at his place, making himself at home... Just being there, like a patient spouse, ready to give himself to him – because man, how he was – after those charged conversations... The thing was, it wasn’t hard. No, it was the easiest thing. Which was precisely the reason why Louis had to go, now, before seeing what kind of fashionista gorgeous outfit Harry had come up with, how his hair looked today, if he’d managed to cover up Louis’ mark on the hardest point of his jaw. Essentially, Louis wasn’t running: he was protecting himself. It was not like Louis didn’t know Harry wasn’t straight, but he knew Harry would be emotionally drained, physically needy and yet, still, in love with someone else. How could he have overlooked it before, Louis didn’t know, because now the song played in his head over and over. The lines between them got blurrier and blurrier with so much as a shared sigh, and Louis needed the distance.  
It wasn’t like they would be stopping any of what they were doing anyways, this was a given. Louis just couldn’t get used to spending every waking hour with Harry, or he wouldn’t be able to reverse to a life where he wasn’t a constant presence.

Aware of the unattractiveness of his handwriting, he opted for sending Harry a text, from the lift. 

To H:  
‘I swear it’s NOT about the mystery girl. I have stuff to do, but I’ll see you on Monday. Can’t wait. Thx for the food’

Then, on a whim, he typed another one. ‘Still very proud of you baby. So strong’

Harry replied hours later, as Louis was heading out for dinner with Jade and Jesy, uselessly trying not to think about him.

H:  
‘baby > mate’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy! i don't know how this came out, i know it's super long and yet i feel like it says nothing, i'm a bit self-conscious about it, but i do think that it was needed to deepen their relationship besides the physical side. so i hope you still appreciate it :) thanks for the kind comments! xx N


	13. The one where they go to LA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In London it's cold. Louis makes chicken that's not poisonous and Harry brings weed. In LA it's steamy. James is onto them. They kind of fight but Louis has a realization that changes it all. Harry wants to talk about something and Louis doesn't. James' wife is onto them too (especially Louis). Louis tells Harry what to do. They think about songs a lot.

February 2017

In the days that followed the beginning of his whatever-it-was with Harry, Louis’ life acquired a weird pace, where days seemed to fly and yet some moments would last forever, the simplest of events could feel life-changing and every day he would go to bed feeling tired to the bone and deeply satisfied, thinking _wow, today was long_ and then realising all of a sudden that the week was already over. 

The beginning of February in London was a gelid sun or a light but freezing rain, it was cold noses and Louis losing himself staring at the clouds of breath in front of his face, it was scorching hot tea and days at the studio trying out different tempos and then finding the perfect one, it was getting excited while listening to the first base once it was ready, eating junk food in the studio and trying out a couple of new restaurants with Harry, it was Harry holding him from behind in front of everyone and Louis leaning into it, it was all of their friends hanging together, Ed getting his well-deserved beers, even though with no exact explanation of the reason why he was being treated to them.

It was a little less than two weeks that flew by and it was more eventful than how months of Louis’ life would be, when he was off work. It was a time of steamy looks between Harry and him when they thought nobody was watching, but kind of also when they thought someone might be. It was easy banter and hard work and videogames with Zayn and texting Harry. Other days, it was going home with Harry, falling into him, going for whatever tempo they were feeling at the moment, but, unlike the song, there wasn’t a right or a wrong one here. Every time was perfect. Sometimes, it would be rushed and rough and urgent, in the bathroom after sushi or at Harry’s after they’d started to see the song come to life. Other times, they’d be in Harry’s bed or on the sofa or on the floor and they’d take it so slow, so slow it was almost painful. Other times, they’d just have a nice conversation or a snog and then Louis would leave. 

Harry’s playlists were still messing with his head. He made it a point to sleep in his own bed most of the time, which, after ten days of, well, of Harry, resulted in only four sleepovers. Excluding the day of the ‘afterparty’, as Zayn had graciously defined it, and the day where Harry had cried. Of course, they hadn’t seen each other every single day, so there was that.  
So okay, maybe, possibly, basically almost every day they’d spent together, they’d ended up sleeping together – as in, actually falling asleep. Louis exonerated himself because of their lifestyles: if they worked until evening, then had dinner and a couple pints with friends, then they’d get horny and hungry for each other, unless they weren’t already (they were already, always), and of course then it’d be so late they would just sleep. Especially if they had to work together, that only made sense, it was convenient for the commute and all. Clearly, their collaborators had figured something out, but probably not the total extent of it, which only made sense, since Louis hadn’t either. Louis was proud of their restraint, because they’d kept it pretty tame at the studio, no kinky stuff. (Okay, almost).  
It was just that they craved each other’s touch, not even in a sexual way, just for comfort, or for fun. Harry would brush a finger to the back of Louis’ neck in passing, Louis would shove his arm at every stupid joke he made (he made a lot), Harry would squeeze his thigh, Louis would nudge his feet.  
Eventually, they would find themselves gagging for each other and yes, once they hadn’t made it past the backseat of Harry’s car, but, still, if Louis could say so himself, they were handling themselves quite well around others. 

It was no big deal and they still had time, Louis still had time, he thought, staring at the ceiling of his (own) bedroom. For the first time in around ten days, Harry had a commitment of the kind that they still wouldn’t discuss. Meeting on the Monday after their weekend being ‘apart’ had been particularly emotional, where emotional meant Harry dragged him to the bathroom to finger him breathless, on the sink, after just a “Hi”.  
Aside from that, they’d behaved and worked and when they weren’t behaving, well, they just weren’t; and when they weren’t working, they’d definitely be too tired to discuss anything deeper than why a certain tv show was overrated or if poetry was better than prose.

Rubbing his eyes and then running his hands on his face, Louis realised he’d never once seen Harry on this bed. Since Harry’s flat was closer to work and, unlike Louis, he had the ability to drive in the city’s traffic, they’d always end up there.  
Once, after having pizza in Hampstead, they almost snuck to Harry’s public house up there, but from the cab they’d spotted some stalkers camping outside the gates. 

“Do they honestly think you live there?!” Louis had laughed.

“Where’s your public London house, Lou?” Harry had drawled against his neck.

“You’ll never know. Might be a stalker.”

Now, Louis was taken aback by the need to have Harry over, just make him a nice lunch and let him be the guest for once. Not that he felt like a guest at his anymore (had he ever, really?), but Harry was always incredibly thoughtful and polite, taking care of him, having everything at his disposal.

He found his phone in his ruffled covers, since he’d fallen asleep scrolling random gossip blogs. He knew that if Harry came over, they would probably talk about the previous evening and its implications, and for once, he didn’t want to avoid it, even though he would have given anything not to see Harry cry. 

To: H  
‘Come over for lunch? If you’re free’

He saw Harry type immediately, three grey dots appearing and then being substituted by a ‘Hey you! was just thinking about you’, soon followed by ‘No rabbit food though’

Louis giggled in the hem of his shirt, and texted him his address. 

Harry showed up a little over two hours later, wearing his usual black skinny jeans and a flowy white shirt under another of his printed Gucci sweaters, which Louis secretly loved. He was quite happy about his Givenchy sweater himself, it made him comfortable, but he knew it was cool as fuck. 

“Hi,” Harry gave him his warmest, dimpled smile, “I didn’t bring wine, because it’s lunch time. I didn’t want to overdo it.” 

“Right,” Louis smirked, stepping aside to let him in.

“Love the place,” Harry looked at him and then around again, “It makes mine feel tiny.”

“It’s just more of an open space, but I don’t think it’s that bigger,” Louis shrugged, “Not like I use the kitchen very often, so.”

Harry bit his lip, “Do you wanted me to cook?”

“No, hey! You’re my guest. I made chicken.”

“Great” 

Louis started walking to the kitchen area, Harry behind him. “Do you wanna eat on the sofa? I mean, I have invited you and cooked so there’s some effort, but it’s not like, ah, candlelit dinner or anything”

After saying it, Louis blushed, realising something about candles and his dinners at Harry’s, starting from the very first one.

Harry, anyway, didn’t seem offended, as he fumbled in his pocket to pull out something that made Louis eyes sparkle and his eyes water.

“How about… joint-lit lunch?” Harry grinned.

They hadn’t got high together since that winter in the U.S., Louis thought. Dancing to Lana del Rey and blowing a man pretending he was Harry. (Harry had cried, in the stall. He was pretty sure. They’d never mentioned it).  
Anyway, Louis was more focused on Harry’s gift, in the present.

“No wine, but you brought the good stuff, lad! I could kiss you!” Louis exclaimed.

“I mean, you could,” Harry shrugged.

Louis stuck his tongue at him, “Let me grab the food, Harold. I didn’t have breakfast so I’m starved.”

(He didn’t say he didn’t have breakfast because he was too anxious to cook something edible and facetiming with his mum and then with Lottie for advice, trying to keep the reason for his stress and his sudden passion for cooking hidden – with scarce results, anyway).

 

“Try to say chicken stuffed with mozzarella wra-” Harry’s blabber was interrupted by a fit on giggles. “I’m so sorry, Lou, a piece of chicken fell from my mouth, how unsexy is that?”

“About as unsexy as the word unsexy you just made up” Louis licked his lips.

“I think it exists,” Harry murmured, crowding his space. 

Louis put a hand in the small space dividing them, placing the spliff between Harry’s lips and keeping it there for him to take a long drag. Harry fell forward, his forehead on Louis’. 

“I love this,” Harry whispered, smoke in the air between them.

“Well you brought it,” Louis took a drag himself, careful not to burn Harry, since he was so close.

“I mean it all,” Harry laughed, abruptly sprawling himself on the sofa, his feet on Louis’ lap. “The weed is a substitute for wine. I wouldn’t go chez someone empty handed”

“Chez… are you talking French to seduce me, Harold?”

“Like I need it,” Harry scoffed, crossing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

Louis placed a firm hand on his shin. “Like _you_ need it?! Like if I do this,” he pressed his fingers harder on Harry’s leg, “It’s genuinely enough to get you going.”

Harry opened his eyes, outraged and amused. “No it’s not!”

“Oh please, I’ll give you ten minutes before you’re all over me going like ‘God, baby, you take it so well’,” Louis made his voice gruffer to imitate Harry, who was staring at him with huge eyes and an open mouth. 

“Wha- More like you’re begging me ‘no more fingers, please, ‘m so ready’,” Harry’s voice was high-pitched and he also wriggled, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes for emphasis. 

“I don’t sound like that,” Louis shoved Harry’s legs off himself and threw his whole body on him, “Apologise, or else.” 

He jokingly threatened him with the lit end of the joint, of course keeping it distant enough that there was no risk, but saw Harry stop squirming underneath him and his pupils widen even more than they were from him being high. The sole reaction rendered Louis too speechless and immobile.

“I’m not going to burn you, Harry,” he said, stern, but heard his own voice falter.

“I know,” Harry swallowed, trembling a bit when Louis put the joint in his mouth again. “And, like… I don’t think I’m cool with that. Burning. Specifically. But, like. Other stuff. Um. Could be okay.”

“Okay” Louis nodded, slowly, never taking his eyes away from Harry’s. He took the final drag of their spliff, almost burning his finger with the end of it, then he blindly put it in a half-filled water glass, on the coffee table in front of them, as he sunk down on Harry, shotgunning smoke into his waiting mouth and kissing him hard, needy, biting, but somehow taking his time. 

They kissed like that for what could have been hours, getting worked up but never going further than running harsh hands on each other, bodies tight together, legs tangled. It still amazed Louis, how great it was to kiss Harry. How life-changing. How it made him insane, always craving more but also so in the moment, so content. Harry’s tongue was tainting, his lips like candy and drugs, his kisses a balance of thorough and sloppy that made Louis’ knees give out and set his insides on fire. No matter how many times they did this, every single one of them would be different, a whirlwind of sensations that had Louis way more hooked than drugs.

Harry was starting to moan adorably and Louis was doped with the sound, which was probably why he hadn’t heard the door click open and jumped when he heard Zayn’s voice calling out from the entrance.

“Babe! Hey, it smells like- Oh! Oh, hi, Harry.”

They were now in his line of vision, both of them with their hair all over the place, Harry with his shirt even more open than usual and a completely sexed out expression. 

“Hi, Z!” Louis had disentangled their limbs, sitting up and allowing Harry to do the same. 

He saw Harry look at Zayn with a grumpy face before mouthing at him: ‘babe’ with his eyebrows shooting to the sky.

Zayn seemed frozen into place for a moment, but then shook up, scratching his eyebrow. “I just wanted to discuss flight arrangements and I was in the neighbourhood, so, I, I can come back, clearly. Shit smells good though.”

“Lou made chicken,” Harry said, proudly. 

“I meant the mary jane,” Zayn laughed, “But good to know, let me know if you throw up, it wouldn’t the first time he poisons someone.”

“I’m right here!?” Louis scoffed.

“Um, I… I can go,” Harry was saying, already starting to straighten his shirt and get up.

“No!” Louis held onto his arm, probably a bit too strongly. Maybe his reaction was a tad overdramatic, but he was high and hot and Harry looked sinfully out of it. 

Harry smiled and sat back down next to him, Zayn joining them a bit reluctantly, at first, then relaxing after blatantly checking the sofa for bodily fluids.  
Louis didn’t mind, at all. He felt aroused at the thought that people knew what he and Harry did, loved it when he left finger shaped bruises on the man’s body, loved that Harry wouldn’t hide them at all. 

They spent the afternoon planning their trip, on the phone with Harry’s people; then playing Fifa with Zayn and smoking, until Louis started stroking Harry so evidently, under the blanket they’d put on, that Zayn left in a hurry looking shocked and yet kind of in awe.

And then for the very first time Harry was in his bed and they were both faded out of their minds, fucking like animals, and Louis bit Harry’s neck so violently that he drew blood.

The next day they didn’t have to go to the studio, most of the work being in the producer’s hands now.  
After a particularly lazy morning, Harry went home to get ready for LA, as they were leaving in two days.

“I feel so blessed, traveling on a private plane and all” Harry chuckled because he knew he was riling Louis up.

“We can always fly coach if you-”

Harry pecked his lips, already out of the door, but leaning back on Louis. “No, no. I think your jet will be more… convenient.”

He wiggled his eyebrows.

(He was later proven right).

 

They were scheduled to spend four days in LA, recording with James on their third one.  
Their arrival was overwhelming jetlag and warmer weather, going into the city in separate cars, taking pictures with fans, and then meeting back at Harry’s and Harry with one of Louis’ legs over his shoulder and Louis scratching his back and calling out his name.

The second day was a nice morning Louis spent surfing on a secluded beach, only to spot Harry staring at him with his jaw slack, Louis winking and Harry getting up from his sun chaise, so rushed that he’d thrown it on Zayn, who was napping next to him.

“What is this?” he almost hissed, gesturing at Louis.

“A wetsuit, Harold.”

“Oh fuck.”

Harry grabbed him by a wrist and dragged him into one of those lifeguard cabins, the ones where Marissa would get drunk in the OC, Louis thought. He was laughing and stumbling next to Harry, his bare wet legs covering with sand than stuck to them.

“Fucking god,” Harry growled, pushing him up against the wooden wall, “You left me all alone this morning and then I see you like this.”

He kept on running his hands over the wetsuit, on Louis’ chest and ribs, then gripping his bum, as Louis wrapped his dirty legs around his middle, then Harry was pressing his thumbs on his waist, eyeing him like a hunter looks at his prey before tearing them apart. 

“I had to go to my place, it’s been closed for months now,” Louis mumbled, feeling himself get weaker by the moment. “And then I thought… you, uh, you always let me sleep, so…”

Harry had a horrified look in his eyes, which made Louis stop talking, put his legs back on the floor and inspect his face, serious. 

“I… don’t have lube. Or condoms,” Harry stated, gutted.

Louis’ eyes bulged out of his head and he exploded in exhilaration. He cradled Harry’s face in his hands, caressing his cheeks and catching the growing hair at the back of his neck. “You’re so cute, man. I thought I had a spider on me head.”

“I wouldn’t make a face for a spider,” Harry protested, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder in defeat. Louis’ taste for being overdramatic seemed to have rubbed on him.

“Mate, I remember the other day at the pub, with that tiny-” Louis was interrupted and let out a loud, breathy ‘ah’, Harry sucking a bruise where the salty skin of his neck met the hem of the suit, dragging his hard cock on Louis’ thigh.

“You were right, anyway,” he drawled, kissing Louis’ neck, then taking his earlobe between his teeth, “I want to hate that you call me mate, but, it turns me on.”

“Yeah,” Louis panted, laughing lightly, “No shit.”

 

“And guys, I just have to say how happy I am to have you here!” 

“Cheers, James,” Louis grinned, “It’s good to see your old mug.”

“Yeah, I… I would have said the same thing, but more politely,” Harry drawled. 

James giggled, shaking his head, “So, I just want everyone out there to know, I was actually the one who brought you two together!”

Harry coughed in his first, causing Louis to purse his lips in the effort to hide a huge smile. 

“True, true,” Louis nodded, “You get all the credit for this,” he gestured between them. They were sat sufficiently close on the set sofa, but not so much that their legs would touch. Harry was gorgeous in a classy, fitted suit, but he had tons of makeup on from up close, just as Louis himself, and that felt weird, like this was their first time actually reconnecting to their jobs, their outside world. Working on the song was just for them, the real them, the everyday them. (Harry still looked breathtaking, in any setting).

“A bit of credit goes to Ed, also,” Harry added, gesturing in a mesmerising way.

“Oh, tell me more!” James beamed. “Are we talking about Ed Sheeran?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis nodded, tempted to glare at Harry, but deciding he was amused with the situation and to go with it, “I feel like we’re using this platform for a bit of an inside joke, though…”

“By all means!” James was all ears, despite someone from upstairs probably yelling at him to proceed with the set questions.

“Well, about a week ago, I think, we went out for drinks with our ginger mate. And I was like ‘let me buy you some pints’, right? And he just went ‘thank you, but why’? And I just told him ‘do you want the beer or not’ so in the end he drank the beer and he still isn’t sure why, but, hi Ed if you’re watching!”

“Hiii!” Harry waved at the camera, his anchor bracelet catching the bright, hot light that was pointed right at them. 

Louis was smiling so wide that his eyes were reduced to fissures. 

“Alright, so this has something to do with you though, right?” James chimed in, “Care to share on live television?”

“Uh, no,” Harry deadpanned.

“I told you it was an inside joke!”

…

“So, you’re not disclosing the title of the song yet, proper teases you are; but can you give us a hint on what it’s about?”

“I mean,” Harry ran a hand through his quiff, “It’s something that’s been growing in me for quite some time. And strangely, I feel that as time goes by, the meaning I attach to it grows stronger. Of course a song is about what you choose to project on it, so, I’m not going to tell people what they have to feel while listening to it, but clearly, we all write from personal experience, so”

“So?” James urged him to go on, “Come on, give me something to work with.”

“Um,” Harry had a timid smile, a hint of dimple, “I’d say that for me this song was kind of about, um,” he side-glanced at Louis, who was looking at him with utmost interest, given that Harry had never revealed _him_ anything about the song. Which was understandable, of course, since they were shagging and all and the song was about a pretty girl dancing in the light and shit, but- “It’s about being in love, basically. Simple as that,” Harry said then, toying with his rings.

Louis felt his stomach sink and yet his cheeks burn. Both reactions were inappropriate, because he knew this was a love song, hell, he wrote songs himself, it wasn’t that hard to grasp – still, hearing Harry say it, _being in love_ , his voice softening, it broke Louis’ heart and gave him butterflies at the same time.

James was cooing, but got right back into the game, “So are you in love, Harry?”

Harry looked at Louis again, seemingly uncomfortable, probably seeking for approval. Well Louis wasn’t going to help him. He sent him a tight encouraging smile (fake encouraging, as he was dying inside), but avoided his eyes.

“I… um, I mean the song really can apply to different situations, so… And Louis worked on the music, it has a nostalgic kind of feel…”

Harry kept on talking and Louis agreed politely, but he wasn’t listening anymore, too busy trying to look at ease while he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

… 

“I’m guessing you two enjoyed working together?”

Harry nodded happily, while Louis’ smile still couldn’t reach his eyes. Was he really going to have a breakdown on television over a stupid song? 

“It was amazing,” Harry said, although Louis sensed him tensing beside him. It was like something had changed in the air between them.

Louis still felt that he had to answer truthfully, “Yeah, you know, Harry’s a great artist, and, obviously, a great person and all. So it was pretty great.”

“Will you be collaborating again?” James asked. “Or are you already?”

Harry and Louis replied at the same time.

“Definitely,” Harry said.

“Not sure, really,” Louis bit his lip at the sight of Harry’s puppy dog eyes.

Soon enough after that, the interview was wrapped up, and they were led outside the studio, as James was held back to talk to some executives.  
Before they left, he held each of them briefly and reconfirmed their invitation for dinner that evening. Both of them nodded, mind somewhere else.

As they walked to the green room, Louis was physically aware of the tension between them, every muscle of his body felt it, and it was so unbearable that he thought, let it break out, let it destroy us, but this absolutely cannot last.  
Well, it didn’t: as soon as they got to the room, alone, Harry snapped, turning to Louis who’d stayed back to recollect himself with the excuse of shutting the door.

“What the fuck was that?!” his voice was deep, and he was raising it, but somehow, the volume wasn’t that of a yell. 

Louis had only heard Harry get loud in bed, and even there, it took some effort, because generally his voice would only gain in depth.

Louis decided to play dumb. Also, because he didn’t even know how to answer himself.

“Was what?” he lifted his shoulders and let them drop.

“Don’t be daft, Louis. That was fucking embarrassing. We started off so great and then you go all cold and weird? You looked fucking out of it and I was like a rambling idiot, saying that I’d like to work with you again, and you’re like ‘nah, I’m cool’, I mean! Fucking God!” 

Alright, now he was almost yelling.

“I was just being honest,” Louis shrugged, calmly, mostly since Harry was oblivious to the hurt in his chest and his only weapon was to play it cool. 

“Amazing,” Harry nodded, trying to tone it down. “I’m sorry I bothered you at all, really. Should have told me in July or summat.”

“Don’t be a fucking idiot and don’t insult me like that. I loved it, you know that. But it’s just… Come on, it was good while it lasted, it’ll still be good until it does. If… if it does.”

“Are you talking about us working or us fucking?” 

“Whatever,” Louis sighed, turning his back on him to walk the fuck out of there.

“Did you snort?” Harry asked abruptly, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

“Fuck you,” Louis snarled. “Now are you done insulting me? Because unlike you, I’m not turned on by this shit.”

Harry pressed harder on his arm. He could encircle it completely with his large hand and Louis couldn’t cope with that.

“Not turned on. Right. Then either you overdid it with the snow,” he hissed, nostrils flaring, jaw tight as he stared at Louis, “Or you’re fucking lying, _mate_. Your eyes talk.”

Louis swallowed, forgetting how to breathe in front of Harry’s own pair of blown eyes. “I’m not high,” he repeated.

It was all it took.  
Harry was all over him, everywhere, kissing and biting, hungry, or maybe angry, his hands caging Louis’ face and then groping his bum; Harry used his own body to push Louis toward the nearest wall, as Louis was practically boneless, aside from how affected he was from being manhandled by Harry. 

Once Louis’ back hit the wall, Harry was already taking off his t-shirt, then trailing kisses and bites down his chest to his belly button. When he was kneeling in front of him, Harry tugged Louis down too, laying him on the floor.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he muttered, taking off Louis’ shoes, then going for his jeans. “I want you all the time.”

Louis just nodded frantically, afraid he wouldn’t have been able to talk.

“Are you fucking someone else?” Harry suddenly asked, taking off Louis’ pants harshly. 

“D-do you care?” Louis asked, stupidly. 

Harry was eyeing him, famished, still all dressed up. 

“I don’t give a shit” he said. “Turn around.” 

Louis did. The linoleum pavement felt strange and cold against his body, especially on his cock, but everything was so arousing that Louis thought he could come only for this, being on the floor, powerless, Harry’s eyes on his back, his hands spreading his cheeks. Harry’s tongue gave him a sharp flick, with no other warning but the fact that he’d felt Harry’s breath inside him for a moment. Harry slicked him up relentlessly, making obscene noises and clearly enjoying every second of it, his hands likely leaving marks on Louis’ bum.  
When Harry stopped, Louis was uncontrollably panting on the floor, still tense and incredibly excited. He heard familiar sounds that made him assume that Harry was taking his clothes off, but he wouldn’t look back. He couldn’t handle it, probably. Harry came back. About ten times he thought that he would get going, or at least give him his fucking orgasm, but no. His mouth was never tired but he was able to withdraw just before Louis tumbled over the edge, and Louis started rocking back on him desperately, moaning more and more loudly. He tried to grip something but his hands just slid on the floor. It only made it all that much hotter.

“Wanna come like this?” Harry asked.

Louis would never let him know that he’d nearly lost it only to the sound of his wrecked voice.

“Just wanna come,” he replied, snapping his hips back to fuck Harry’s tongue. 

Harry backed a bit and Louis felt himself gape at the loss. “Liar,” Harry said. He ghosted a finger over Louis’ rim but it was gone as Louis tried to push himself on it.

“God, Styles,” Louis wanted to sound snarky, but it came out like a whine. He was drenched in sweat, feeling the light dust on the floor glued to him. “Get on with it.”

Harry lapped at him once again, dragging his tongue up, to his back. 

Louis had never once turned to look at him, but felt that Harry too was now naked, as he laid on him, pressing him on the floor and covering Louis’ hands with his own. Harry’s rock hard dick slid between Louis’ ass cheeks and Louis couldn’t stop swearing between pants, under his breath. 

“Tell me what you want,” Harry whispered in his hair.

“You,” Louis wept, broken, “I just want you.”

“Be more specific.”

The weight of Harry so close to where Louis wanted him was making him insane.

“Your cock, alright?” he started blabbing, exasperated, “I need it, okay? Make me feel it for a week. I want it to hurt.”

“How?” Harry asked. Louis knew what he meant, and he wasn’t going to play now.

( _“How do you want it?”_

_“Hard.”_

_“I meant-”_

_“I know, I know. I- I wanna look at your face.”_ )

He gave in. “I wanna see you.” 

Harry flipped him over; being face to face with him was almost unbearable, Louis had to shut his eyes. He felt colder because Harry was getting up, incredibly gorgeous and hard and wounded. 

In the ten seconds Harry left him alone to go through his duffle bag for lube and condoms, Louis thought that was it, that was the moment for him to flee, to save himself. But who was he kidding: he knew he couldn’t be saved. He was going to burn with Harry.  
Harry was back and he’d missed him to death. They kissed messily as Harry lubed himself up and then went for Louis.

“I’m good,” Louis cried, stopping him. “You took fucking hours.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, expression hard. Louis had never seen him like this, especially not in such context, and it made him mad with lust. 

“Harry,” he begged, hazarding to meet eyes with him, “Fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry looked taken aback, “Why.”

Louis closed his eyes again, “It’s easier this way.”

It wasn’t.  
Louis moved on the floor with the force of Harry’s thrusts, holding onto him with his legs and nails and teeth.

He felt fire all over. Every time with Harry was incredible, the way they knew each other’s bodies, how they thrived in the other’s pleasure more than in their own. Harry was rougher than ever, using him and Louis loved it, he was dying every other second, not even bothering to keep quiet, an endless stream of howls and _fuck, yeah, yeah, Harry, yes_ leaving his mouth automatically, his brain blacked out on anything that wasn’t Harry.

Harry’s grip was painfully tight on Louis, as if he was to disappear at any moment. He kept on groaning _mine, mine, mine_ with every hit and it was doing to Louis more than he could ever express. He had constellations beneath his eyelids, but if he opened his eyes he had a galaxy alive in front of them, and all he could do was wonder when exactly, between the fucking, the confessions, the laughs, the song, he’d managed to fall so helplessly in love with Harry. 

When Harry slid two fingers next to his cock, without warning, Louis cried out unabashedly, choking on the lack of air in his lungs. His orgasm hit him only moments later, leaving him wrecked, but Harry kept going, if only for a couple more thrusts. Louis felt him fill up the condom and thought he’d never been fucked without it by him, thought that he wanted it so much that he might get hard again solely at the idea. Harry pulled out without a word, barely looking at him.  
At least, he’d respected Louis’ wish, ‘like he hated him’… or had he really? In his sex haze, Louis was ruminating about their first time. He’d been having flashbacks of it during all of it, honestly, even though everything was different. Or it wasn’t. Louis was very dizzy.

He got up on wobbly legs and cleaned himself up best as he could with a few napkins. Harry was on the other side of the room, frowning slightly, sliding his jeans on. They got dressed in silence, back in their street clothes, Harry carefully folding his fancy ensemble, Louis leaving it balled up on an armchair. They were almost shy around each other, which was something long gone between them, if ever had it been there. 

Louis’ mind was still lost, especially wandering toward the night of Harry’s birthday.

_You’re so perfect._  
_Say my name._  
_Whatever you want, baby._

Feeling like it was way more than just sex, even back then. He’d brushed off the feeling, later, maybe he had let Harry fuck it out of him. Well. Great, because now it was all downing on him and he was having a hard time breathing, and not just because he’d just been shagged to death. He’d tried to prevent this from happening for so long, when it had always been there. Harry was there, lean and handsome and sweet and hurt, someway, and he was perfect, and he was everything Louis wanted, so much that he missed him even when they were together. 

Harry was waiting for him by the door – ever so polite – as Louis slipped on his sneakers, every movement slow and drowsy. Harry always knew how to make him feel it, but wow, this time as he walked he realised this could be his masterpiece. 

“I called a car, I’m going home to get dressed” Harry informed him, eyes on his phone, as they made their way out side by side, avoiding the looks from people who were in the corridor. It was unlikely that they hadn’t been heard, but this time, it wasn’t the thought of it that had made Louis excited, but the fact that he’d had absolutely no consideration of their whereabouts at all. Yes, it was a green room, they were late, people were probably waiting for them to leave to do their jobs. But it was only Harry and him, in a way. Always.

“I guess there’s people, and paps,” Harry added, seeing as Louis had only nodded, distracted. “So I, um, I actually called you one too, you know, to avoid… speculation.”

“Great,” Louis mumbled. “Wouldn’t want that. I’ll wait here for a bit, you go first,” he nodded to the exit.

“Are you coming at James’ tonight?”

“Am I?! He’s my friend, of course I am. Are you, Harry?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t have asked-”

“Perfect,” Louis cut him off. “I’ll step at mine, I’m sure I have lots of clothes there. You pick me up and we’ll share a car because we’re going the same place and we aren’t assholes.” 

Harry looked at him like he had something to say about that. 

“Go, Harry,” Louis shoved him, “See you later.”

Harry went. 

Louis leaned his forehead on the wall. 

 

Harry looked amazing. The orangey streetlights, through the car windows, illuminated his stern profile and slid between the creases of his printed shirt which was, of course, kind of sheer. His hair was growing steadily and it made Louis think of 2013, even though now it was simply pushed back, creating a natural quiff, unlike the over-the-top look Harry used to have. (Louis liked that one too, anyway).

They’d barely spoken two words to each other since Louis had got into the car, but they were both more relaxed now. Louis had taken a long shower trying to come to terms with his realization, before deciding that some pot would help him way more. He didn’t feel like letting Zayn know, he would gloat too much, and he had a dinner with Liam, happy to finally be in the same place as him. He wasn’t so high that he’d make a fool of himself with Julia or James, but enough to feel like he wouldn’t crawl out of his own skin just because of how glowing Harry looked. Enough that, after around ten minutes of staring at him silently, as the driver started huffing at the traffic, he scooted closer to him and pressed a hand between his legs.

Harry’s legs twitched and he let out a little gasp, but soon recollected himself. “Stop that, Louis,” he said, serious and slow.

Louis did, feeling humiliated and ridiculous. He placed his hands in his own lap and observed his tattoos.

About ten seconds later, Harry grabbed his hand and swiftly put it back on his crotch, already affected, holding it there with his own larger palm.

He dropped his head on the headrest, and Louis was hypnotized by his neck, the way his throat bobbed, how his lips parted to let out a low sigh.

In a heartbeat, Louis was straddling him, fingers buried in his soft hair. Harry’s hands were on Louis’ bum and his mouth was already open, inviting. Their kiss was slow and filthy, but it didn’t last much before Harry slid his palms up Louis’ shirt, trapping his waist and tilting his head to a side to stop their mouths from moving together. Louis took the occasion to kiss his neck, but Harry wriggled a bit. 

“Lou,” he called him, “I need to tell you something. About the song.”

Louis all but felt like throwing up his own heart for how violently it had jumped in his throat. It was beating so loud that Louis wouldn’t even be able to hear Harry, which was convenient, because he couldn’t have it, not now. He was addicted to Harry and if being heartbroken was the price to pay, so be it. Maybe he was higher than he thought. Maybe it was Harry’s perfume.

“No,” he kissed him, “No, please” he was begging, but he didn’t care. “Let’s not ruin this.”

He couldn’t know who the song was about. He didn’t care. As long as Harry liked him, it was okay. Plus, Harry was going touring in less than two weeks. Louis could handle this. 

They made out for a while, lazily grinding on each other, but apparently Harry hadn’t dropped the topic.

“Lou, listen, I don’t think it would be ru-”

“It would,” Louis panted, letting his tongue twirl around Harry’s, grinding harder on him. He still tasted like peppermint and Louis was so in love. “It would, I don’t wanna know, okay?”

Harry blinked, turning to look out the window. Louis suddenly felt like he’d made him sad, and nibbled at the sharpest angle of his jaw. “Babe. Hey. This is fun, right? Let’s keep it that way.” 

Harry nodded, but kept on looking outside. 

“Baby,” Louis nuzzled his cheek, “Don’t be like this, please.” 

Harry turned to him, pouting. “Like what?”

“Like a kicked puppy. Give me a smile.” 

Louis noticed the driver had turned the music up and was staring in front of himself almost too hard. Deciding to be polite, since this was Harry’s LA driver, with whom Louis wasn’t familiar at all, he glided off Harry’s lap, but remained close to him.

“Smile,” he ordered again, as Harry seemed to be lost in his own head again. 

Harry smiled weakly, then the smile actually reached his eyes, when he crossed his with Louis’, as if he couldn’t hold himself back. 

“So obedient,” Louis kissed his cheek, “I like you like this.”

“Should try me in bed,” Harry started off joking, but the lightness got lost before the end of the sentence.

Louis brushed his hair off the side of his forehead. “I will.” 

Truthfully, this was something he was still pretty careful about. Harry loved bottoming, when he was in the mindset for it, which didn’t necessarily happen often, but by now it had, more than a good handful of times. He loved to be held down, to be pinched, he had definitely loved having his wrists tied to the headboard with one of Louis’ ties. He loved teeth. He loved when Louis told him what to do, and he got really submissive, but Louis wasn’t sure if he could cross that kind of line with him, now that he was aware of how he himself felt. He wondered why Harry would give him that kind of power when he didn’t feel the same way. Then again, Harry trusted him, as they were mates, real mates, at this point. Mates who often couldn’t finish a conversation or a meal before starting to rip off their clothes, but, they would always go back to it. With the exception of that one particular topic, but Louis decided to push it in the furthest corner of his mind. The car was slowing down, and Louis made the executive decision that this was going to be a nice dinner.

 

“I just wonder, James, could you have guessed this when you introduced the guys?” Julia offered them a welcome cocktail, probably something with pineapple, judging from the smell.

“Of course,” James grinned, satisfied.

Harry and Louis replied at the same time. 

“Guess _what_?!” Louis asked, tone a little shrill.

“Thanks, man,” Harry said with a beaming smile.

They exchanged surprised looks.

“You did just share shagging to an Ed Sheeran song on national television, guys,” James laughed. “You couldn’t expect… this, to go unnoticed.”

“What?!” Louis exclaimed, panicked.

Harry laughed delightedly, along with Julia. “It wasn’t that obvious, come on!” he protested then.

“It was,” Julia patted his back. 

Louis blushed, embarrassed yet amused.

“But don’t worry,” James added, “I specifically told the camera guys to avoid the mark on your chest. Which could have been avoided altogether if you didn’t have such an idiosyncrasy for buttons, but alas.”

Harry drank a sip of his drink and laughed again. “Oh man!”, but then he got serious, “Was it so bad that my team will retaliate?”

“Don’t think so, you can always blame it all on fan speculation. I’m assuming what you’re going for, at this point. Just put the idea into their brains, so…” James stopped, glancing at Louis.

Louis, for his part, was feeling a little left out and a little stupid, what the fuck where they ‘going for’? He drank his pineapple cocktail, which was pleasantly stronger than he’d thought.

He saw Harry and James walk further onto the porch, while Julia remained with him.

“You make a lovely pair,” she told him, genuine.

“We… we do, I guess.”

“I’m so happy for you, Lou. You’re family, you know that right?” Julia looked toward her husband and Harry, “And he’s such a gem, isn’t he?” 

Harry was talking to James animatedly, gesturing as per usual, a bit of worry of his face. He was captivating to watch.  
Even though he knew this was rude to Julia, Louis kept on staring for a few seconds, suddenly being reminded of a park and lilac haired boy, talking to Harry, how Harry and hugged him in a sort of secretive way, like they’d shared some important bond over those two minutes of conversation. He felt like some things were starting to make sense in his head; but then again, others remained incomprehensible. 

“I just…” he sighed, realising something. “So much,” he just whispered. He was aware of how ridiculous he would he must have sounded, feeling like a dork because Julia was next to him.

Julia seemed completely unperturbed by his grand declaration masked by pathetic stuttering, but her eyes sparkled. “It shows.”

Louis wanted to complain about how Harry didn’t feel the same, but Harry and James were heading back toward them and Harry put his arm around Louis’ shoulder and Louis felt safe, and good, and home, and he forgot all about it.

 

They went back to Louis’ place, because it was closer, a little buzzed, with flushed cheeks; Harry was barely keeping it together in the car, Louis was trying to.

Harry kept his arm around him as they stumbled through the patio and then finally inside. 

Harry was already on his knees and begged him, _tell me what to do_ , and Louis felt tingles from his temples to his toes, and he obliged.

Later, that night, Harry was handcuffed and Louis played with ice cubes dragging them all over his body, anywhere: where it made him shudder, where it made him moan, where it made a tear run down his cheek, then on his mouth, causing him to giggle, which was amazing, given the context, maybe more than anything else. 

When they were done Harry was on another planet, so Louis brought him cheese and crackers to place on the nightstand (thanking whoever had been kind enough to stock his fridge, because it definitely wasn’t him) and a glass of cold water, without ice though. He cleaned the both of them up and then combed Harry’s sweaty hair with his shaky fingers as the boy munched contentedly, in silence, save for something that he said, serious, after seemingly having pondered about it for a while. 

“Once I came because you called me love.”

Louis tried to chuckle, sounding a bit tinny. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry was pouty, still too affected to make sense, but he was so adorable and young that Louis knew he had to look very fond right then. Harry’s pensive frown turned into a silly giggle as he pecked Louis’ lips. They tumbled under the fresh sheets together, hugging, face to face.

“You make me feel so good,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes on Louis’ chest. “You make me so happy.”

Louis was dying inside but also, when he answered “You do too”, he meant it.

 

They played cards and scrabble on the plane, Zayn joining in, as Margaret, Harry’s PA, typed fast on her laptop, away from them.  
When Zayn poked fun of them for the bruises on Harry’s arms and wrists, and for the fact that Louis could barely walk a straight line, Louis almost envied Harry for having an assistant who was a nice, cool woman in her late thirties and not a nosey scrawny dude, with no brain to mouth filter and hyped because he himself had finally got some with Liam.

During the many hours that separated them from England, Louis was particularly fascinated with Harry. He had something about him, his demeanour, the way he looked when their eyes met, the fact that was being fidgety despite trying to look relaxed: it was enchanting, and bizarre. It was like things between them were the same but also dramatically different, and he wondered if the shift had happened on the green room’s floor, or in his bed, or against the window, or at night with Harry wrapped around him like a koala bear, or maybe that morning, laughing in the pool. But he was lying to himself, because he knew he could pinpoint the crack: for him, it had been when Harry had swiftly avoided explaining the song at James’ show; for Harry, when Louis had begged him not to, in the car, hours later.

What a fucking feeling, Louis thought. 

“Hey,” he heard Harry call him, a finger on his cheek. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Who even says that,” Louis rolled his eyes, but shifted his weight so he was turned toward him.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry asked softly, closing his eyes.

 _You_. “A… a song. What’s on yours?”

Harry looked surprised, “Same.” 

And Louis’ heart was aching all over again, but Harry was there, his profile and his eyelashes and a bite mark below his ear, and Louis couldn’t let go. He put his headphones on and blasted the ever comforting tune which was becoming one of his most played recently. 

_Do I wanna know_  
_If this feeling flows both ways_  
_Sad to see you go_  
_Was sort of hoping that you’d stay_  
_Baby, we both know_  
_That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day_  
_Crawling back to you_

Harry was half-asleep, he took Louis’ hand and didn’t let go until they landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this isn't indecently un-edited, i'll check everything back soon but i wanted to get it up while i'm sure that i'm free (so, today).  
> i think the next chapter will probably be the final one? and then an epilogue of sorts. i might write a one-shot in harry's pov, just because! but idk, i'll probably do it only if someone's interested in it and all. otherwise, pretend like you've never read this note ;)  
> hope you enjoy! xx N


	14. The one where there's light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March in London. Harry is working a lot, Louis riles him up. The song is over and they might be too. Zayn hears Harry say things he might not mean. Harry means them.

March 2017

Louis observed the death of an almost-spring day from his balcony, blowing smoke in the air and lazily following the shapes it created in front of him. He wondered when Zayn would be back, because he was craving his weed like a fucking medicine. He refused to spend another night consuming all of his stash, then eating everything remotely edible in his cupboard, then throwing his guts up, half on the floor and half in the toilet. Hence, he needed a companion to get moderately stoned without hurting himself. Also, he had literally finished his stuff, so, where the fuck was Zayn again?

Huffing and throwing the butt of his fag on the streets below, Louis pulled out his phone. No text. Okay. He could handle it. On the other hand, he really needed his mary jane, it was almost dark out, which would inevitably lead to the same darkness infiltrating his fucked up head. 

He composed a text and sent it without thinking twice.

‘Babe, please come home? Need to get fucking high with you. Miss you xxx’

Not unexpectedly, a reply came almost immediately.

H:  
‘wtf?? I told you I’m working tonight lou’

Louis smirked to himself, replying, ‘Omg Harry soz that was for Z! Work well’

He saw Harry was typing. ‘Should have known, you stopped calling me babe after the first fuck. Guess it was too impersonal since you call all your mates that way’

Alright, so he had a nice comeback. Good. At least he was riling him up a bit. 

Louis sent: ‘Only my best mates that I miss very much and that I wanna get high with’. Then, just to go out with a bang, he added ‘And maybe snog a little ;)’.

Louis could personally vouch for the speed of Harry’s fingers, but the timespan within his last two texts and Harry’s response was impressive nonetheless. 

H:  
‘You’re such a shit’  
‘Plus you can’t snog Zayn, he has a boyfriend’

Shivering a little, Louis decided to walk back inside, making his way to the kitchen. The phone vibrated again in his pocket. He decided to keep him hanging; not like Harry wasn’t doing the same to him a lot since they’d come back from LA.  
He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of beer. After three gulps and having reopened the refrigerator to see if he could eat something, he decided he couldn’t wait anymore, and checked for Harry’s reply.

H:  
‘Nice trick btw. Haven’t used it since fifth form, but you mastered it smoothly, Z and H are so close so it’s such a credible mistake. And the three x were priceless. I’m so jealous rn’

Fuck. Alone, in the refrigerator light, Louis blushed. He kinda wanted Harry to call his bluff, but wow, he didn’t expect him to be so cutting. It was fucking hot and Louis was one snarky text away from shoving his beer can on his dick.  
He closed the refrigerator, suddenly not hungry anymore.

To: H  
‘Well it worked didn’t it’

H:  
‘Is your babe home? I need to work’

To: H  
‘U don’t need to entertain me mate, about to do it on my own’

Bingo. Louis saw Harry type, delete, restart a couple of times.

H:  
‘God, Lou’

Louis just sent a wink and an eggplant emoji.

Harry reacted fast, but not in the way that Louis expected (and kind of hoped for). 

‘I’m not doing this ON PURPOSE lou please I don’t want to go tonight but I have to. You know we’ll see each other in two days for the song’

Right. They were about the hear the finalized version of ‘What a feeling’, but they’d wait to drop the single, since Harry was about to go touring again, and Louis needed to seriously start working on his new record. Which was what Harry felt the need to do now, apparently, since he’d been locked in with producers and writers for the better part of the past two weeks. 

Louis didn’t like it. He had to work himself, yes, but what were two more weeks of fooling around? He always came back more inspired anyways. He’d never written so many songs in such short time, and well, maybe some were just too sappy and some were bordering on too dirty even for him, but he could work a lot with what he had. He knew he wasn’t being fair, and that maybe he just wasn’t as inspiring for Harry as Harry was for him, but still. They’d met a grand total of four times in more than fifteen days, which meant that Louis had been having trouble sleeping and that his right hand would soon get permanent cramps.

It was tearing Louis apart, because when they were together it was almost as if, between them, nothing had changed: easy banter, a bit of catching up, a lot of dirty sex and some cuddles. Still: _almost_ as if, because something was off, always, not in a way that they didn’t like each other anymore, no. Almost on the contrary. They would walk on eggshells around one another, at times, then realise it and chill a bit, but then another one of those moments would come, when they’d look at each other a bit too… Too _much_ , and they had to talk, and Louis risked telling Harry he loved him at least three times, during sex, plus one in the morning, and one when he let him out the door with the knowledge that the man was going to Manchester to meet with some producers and then home for the weekend and they wouldn’t see each other for five consecutive days. And it was the stupidest thing, honestly, because Louis had a lifetime to go without Harry, and he’d never been the needy or clingy type. He supposed the strain between them might be because of that altogether, feeling like they were getting too attached and trying to calm down before splitting for good. His stomach twisted in the most unpleasant way.

His phone buzzed on the counter where he’d left it.

H:  
‘For real though miss you so much xxx’

Three x’s… priceless, Louis chuckled to himself, albeit still uneasy and kind of moody. 

Like a manna from heaven, he heard the front door unlock and ran to jump at Zayn.

“Hey!” his friend protested, “Get your hard-on away from me!”

Louis glanced down at himself, “If you think this is a hard-on, your standards are pretty low.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he shrugged off his studded leather jacket and kicked off his shoes. 

“How’s your boyfriend, Lou?” 

“Oh you know,” Louis shrugged, going to launch himself on the sofa, “Jimmy is okay, I think, but I haven’t seen him since he moved to Manchester for college, and I was seventeen, so-”

“I wonder how he can stand you”. 

Louis turned to show his outrage at his friend, “Excuse me?! It’s not my fault if I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was in school.”

“Alright,” Zayn made himself comfortable next to him, crossing his feet on the coffee table, “Fine. Then how’s Harry? Who’s not your boyfriend and not the reason for your… semi, I guess?”

Louis pouted, arranging his hands on his crotch for decency. “He’s working a lot. I think he’s kind of in pain when we’re together and things are good.”

It didn’t make much sense, but Zayn seemed to understand, nodding a little. “Why do you think that?”

Louis’ reply came out a bit choked. “Because that’s how _I_ feel”

Zayn pondered for a while. “Are you in love with him?”

Louis closed his eyes. “Of course I am.”

“Does he feel the same?”

“I… don’t think so, honestly. Don’t think so. We’re good friends and he’s the best shag, but… that’s it, I think.”

Zayn seemed unconvinced and about to explain why, so Louis interrupted him. 

“Can we just smoke a bit and play Fifa? I can order from that Chinese place you love and your room is ready if you want to sleep here”

“Sure, man,” Zayn was a master at reading subtext, which in this case was _Harry is going out with girls tonight and I can’t help but wonder if one of them is The girl from the song and anyway I miss him and don’t want to be alone_.

 

Louis jolted awake at the sound of the doorbell. It was still very dark and evidently night, which was confirmed when the turned to check the time, it was past 4 am. The fuck. He seriously hoped Zayn wouldn’t have a booty call over, that would be soo rude. Then again, often Zayn couldn’t sleep, mind too busy arranging schedules and shit, and he would run to the gardens for a walk in the secluded peace of Louis’ property, before going back to bed. The idiot usually brought his keys, however.

Muttering insults that he would gladly repeat at his friend’s dumb face, Louis got up and walked downstairs, his bare legs getting chilly, while Harry’s Calvin Klein jumper kept the rest of him warm. 

He reached the front door ready to let his sleepy rage out. “You’re never sleeping over again, you fuck-”

He couldn’t go on because, as soon as the door was sufficiently open to let who was on the other side pass, Harry’s body crashed him and he was kissing him compulsively, pushing him inside, until Louis’ back hit the closer wall, the door left open. He tasted like liquor and he kissed Louis like he needed it to stay alive, and Louis felt the exact same way, clawing him with everything he had. Harry rocked on his crotch, a needy moan escaping Louis’ lips. 

“Need you,” Harry panted, his mouth sliding down to suck hard on Louis neck while a hand sneaked to cup his cock through the thin fabric of his pants. “Miss you.” 

“I’m here,” Louis was panting too, excited out of his mind to feel Harry’s weight on him, the wetness of his saliva all over his face and neck, his strong hand rubbing him.

“Still miss you,” Harry muttered nonsensically, biting Louis’ earlobe. Louis wailed, feeling that only Harry’s pressure on his body was keeping him upright.

“Bed,” he begged, palming Harry’s bum and then slapping it lightly.

Harry groaned and nodded his head, without releasing Louis.

“Door,” Louis added then.

“Yeah, yeah, against the door, fine, baby,” Harry agreed, trailing bites down his collarbones.

“Door’s open,” 

“Oh!” Harry ran to close it, dragging Louis with him by his arm. There was something unbelievable about that simple expression of the fact that he didn’t want to lose contact with him, not even for a second. 

It made Louis think of something, even is the connection was admittedly feeble. He was really drowsy and horny, okay.

“Hey,” he asked, grabbing Harry’s neck to bring his mouth to the boy’s ear (Harry had adorable ears, but Louis wouldn’t say that out loud), “Baby. Are you clean?”

Harry’s pupils were huge and his eyes were bloodshot, he was probably a little tipsy, not a lot, possibly from just one of his pink drinks, Louis assumed – Harry was a lightweight, even though he liked to deny it. His cheeks were already patchy and flushed, just the way Louis loved it. 

Harry nodded, “Fuck, yeah, yes.”

“Yes,” Louis moaned at the thought alone, shivering as Harry licked his neck. “Can’t wait to feel you dripping between my thighs.”

Harry pawed his ass so hard that it made him squeal.

“Fuck, Lou.”

Louis wrapped his legs around Harry’s middle and let himself be carried upstairs. Harry was clumsy, yes, but he was also quite driven, and Louis was pretty sure his main goal was the bedroom.

Harry stumbled on the unmade bed with Louis underneath him, hands sneaking under his sweatshirt.

“I’d fuck you in this,” Harry drawled, “You look amazing in my clothes.” 

He took one of Louis’ nipples between his index and thumb, rolling it slowly, as his other hand ran up and down from Louis’ chest to his hips. 

Louis was breathing raggedly, feeling the back of his neck dampening with sweat and definitely feeling like he needed Harry to touch his dick immediately. He arched his back, trying to get his point across.

“However,” Harry continued, but Louis had no idea of what he’d been saying before. “Get it off.” 

The Calvin Klein was on the floor seconds later, and Harry kissed, bit and licked every inch of Louis’ torso, twirling his tongue over his nipples before blowing on them, trailing his mouth down Louis’ navel, teeth on his hips and stomach.  
Harry’s own torso was rubbing Louis’ painfully hard cock, tenting and dampening his pants.

“H,” Louis called him, broken, “Darling. Get naked.”

Harry smirked, getting up on his knees, blindly toeing off his shoes on the floor behind him, as Louis hastily slid his silk bomber jacket off before lifting his black t-shirt and taking that off too, throwing it on the floor.

“Looking good,” he said, forcefully grabbing Harry’s jaw with his thumb and middle finger, to have the boy look at him and not at his body, “Did your ladies like you?”

“They did, yeah,” Harry replied, voice quivering as Louis bit his jaw, “The ladies love me.”

“Mmh,” Louis kept on biting him, “Read all about it. Harry Styles clubbing and getting into a town car with three girls. Amazing.”

“Yeah… was pretty fun.”

“Yes?” Louis sunk down to bite at Harry’s nipple, just as hard as Harry liked it. “I’m glad. Did you get one off in the toilets like you did me?”

Harry’s fingers, tangled in his hair, tightened in response to the work of Louis’ tongue. “All three of them actually”

Louis popped open the button of Harry’s skin-tight jeans, “Great. So generous.” He made Harry spin so he could push him down on the bed and crawl over him, peeling his jeans off. His mouth watered at the sight of how huge Harry was, a damp patch on his pants that he just wanted to lick. 

Harry grabbed his ass to pull him closer and yanked Louis’ pants off, Louis kicking them out of their way with his feet. “Are we done talking shit, Lou? Do you want it or not?”

Not touching himself required a major effort on Louis’ part, but the task of getting to undress Harry was way more important. 

“Oh I want it,” he slurred, finally getting rid of Harry’s underwear. He put a hand on his throbbing cock, stroking it slowly, ecstatic. “So big. So beautiful. I want it so much.”

“It’s yours,” Harry panted, as Louis sunk down to bite at his thighs, hand not leaving his cock. “Hey, Lou.”

“Mh?”

“You know it’s not true. About the girls. Right?”

Louis looked up at him, Harry propped up on his elbows to meet his gaze, muscles flexing and bulging, sweaty white skin littered with those sinful tattoos; but what made him delirious was the expression in his eyes, pleading, expecting, almost insecure.

Louis just dove next to Harry, throwing a leg around him to make him roll above him.

“Fuck me, Styles. Fuck me fuck me fuck-”

Harry shoved his warm tongue in his mouth, their cocks rubbing and Louis could live forever like this, the promise of pleasure and tension building up all over his body, Harry’s taste, the weight of him, his hands running all over Louis until they firmly seized his ass cheeks. Harry went down until he could throw Louis thighs over his shoulders. 

Louis’ hand, extended to grab the lube from the first drawer, was shaking only by the hot breath of Harry where he wanted him the most, but the positively moaned at the sight of his wild eyes, peering at him through his eyelashes, between his legs. 

He managed to find the bottle and threw it at Harry, slamming the drawer closed. Harry side-glanced at where it landed, but he seemed to be hypnotized by Louis’ bum and Louis tilted his head back, closing his eyes and bracing himself for what was coming.

The first swipe of Harry’s tongue wasn’t tentative, but already precise, hungry. Louis gasped loudly, lightning in his brain. He had to fist his dick to avoid coming too soon, but also to release the unbearable pressure on it. Harry licked over his rim four or five times, squeezing his thighs painfully and beautifully, Louis wanted him all over, all over, and he knew he was about to start raving, but this was just too perfect, what did he even do to deserve such a pure, beautiful thing in his life?

Just as if he’d sensed that Louis was about to lose it, Harry fluttered his tongue in his rim, trying to loosen him up. Louis was completely gone.

“Yes, yes, baby, heaven, that’s it, you, _ah_ , you’re an angel, baby,” Louis stopped talking rubbish to let out a series of moans that he couldn’t hold back, Harry having just nudged him with a knuckle, following up with sliding his entire finger in. Louis was feverish, he’d missed this so fucking much, even though it had only been three days, and Harry was so good, the best. Louis decided to tell him. Or better, probably, he had lost all his filters.

“I missed you so much, baby, you’re the fucking best, fuck, I-”

_IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou._

Harry pressed an open mouthed kiss to his hole and added another finger, slick with lube. “That good uh?”

“God you’re so annoying, baby. Fuck- fuck me, I need to feel you, now, I’m clean, okay?”

Harry alternated scissoring and beckoning his fingers, rings still on, which he knew made Louis even crazier.

“You want it now?” he asked, sounding way more affected than he wanted to let on.

“Yeah, yes. I like the stretch, you know it.”

“Fuck,” Harry let Louis legs fall open, feet resting on the covers, and crawled up between them to be more aligned with Louis, holding himself up with his toned arms. “Thank you for being real.”

They looked at each other for three seconds, panting, before frantically starting to kiss. 

Louis closed his legs around Harry’s hips, wiggling. “No problem. Thank you for that monster cock of yours.”

Harry just bit on his collarbone, pressing his tip to Louis’ rim. 

“Heaven,” Louis repeated, nails on Harry’s shoulders. 

Their eyes met. Harry pushed in, excruciatingly slow. They’d done it so many times, in every way. But this, Harry’s skin, smooth and burning and tearing his walls apart. This was _it_.

“You,” Harry whispered, drooling a bit on his ear, a hand in Louis’ sweaty hair, “You are heaven, baby.”

Once completely in, Harry stilled, trembling slightly. Louis ran his eyes on his flexing muscles, taking his own time to assess to the feeling.

“Move,” he asked then, sounding utterly fucked already. 

Harry fell on his elbows, then gripped Louis’ sides, digging into his ribcage, and started off rough straightaway, probably knowing they both wanted it like that. 

Louis screamed unabashedly, Harry pounding into him with a force that brought tears to his eyes. 

“Yeah, baby! God, yes, yeah!” he yelped, because he couldn’t help it, and because the louder he got, the wilder Harry became. 

The headboard thumped on the wall with the same force as Louis’ heart hit his chest.

“Baby, fuck,” Harry slurred, “You look so good,” he was staring at where their bodies connected, brows furrowed and eyes black. Then they trailed up to Louis’ belly, which was lifting and falling with his frantic breaths. Harry pressed two fingers on his cock, sliding them up to the head, then caressed the pool of precome collecting there, smearing it all over. “So fucking wet.”

“So fucking big,” Louis cried, “Harder, baby, I can take it.”

It couldn’t get much harder than that, but Harry grabbed his ankles and put them over his shoulders, folding Louis on himself, pressing him down with his weight.

He was a gift from above.

“Oh god, oh god! Right there, fuck, H.” 

“You’re a fucking vision,” Harry growled, “Stuffed full with cock. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry was nailing his prostate every fucking time, and Louis was almost there already. He had come untouched more often from Harry’s dick in the past month than in the rest of his life. He knew this time would be no exception.

“So slick and tight,” Harry murmured, wrecked. “I wish you could see yourself. Fucking obscene, love.”

Harry had never called him love. That, and the fact that he was giving it to him so deep and hard that Louis felt him in his stomach, had hot tears running from the corner of his eyes toward the pillow. He felt the pit of his stomach tighten and his whole body shaken with tingles and jolts of pleasure that couldn’t be contained much longer. Harry pinned his wrists above his head, with _one_ bloody hand, and that was it for him. He came between their bodies, droplets reaching his neck and chin.

“Keep going,” he whisper-shouted, before Harry could do anything but keep on slamming into him, more and more erratic, muttering obscenities and _baby, baby, baby_ until he came, and god, wasn’t that the meaning of life. Feeling him everywhere inside, filling him up, hot, sticky, wet, _his_. 

Harry pulled out delicately, Louis had wiped his eyes with his fists, but noticed Harry’s were puffy too. The boy collapsed next to him, then ogled his belly. He licked the come off it at the same time that Louis decided to slip a hand over his hole, catching drops of Harry. 

He lapped at it glancing at Harry, who had rested his chin on Louis’ stomach to look at him, while drawing shapes around his left nipple with a ringed finger. 

“We should have done it like this a long ago,” Louis said, calmer than he’d expected from himself, still sucking his own finger. “I got tested soon after your party. Never been with anyone else since. Which, uh, was pretty clear I guess.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I did too. And, um, same.”

Louis let his eyes fall shut for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts, waiting for regret, anxiety or whatever else, but realising he had nothing but one desire in his mind.

“Would you kiss me?” he asked, quietly.

Harry did.

 

Louis wasn’t surprised that Harry was gone when he woke up the next morning – well, afternoon. Somewhere during round three Harry had told him he had a full day starting in about three hours, and that he would try to call him, but couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t pass out as soon as he touched the floor of his flat.  
Louis would have told him it didn’t matter, that he would happily just lie down with him and lull his tired body to sleep, but Harry went on to ask him to fuck his mouth and well, all other thought was lost. (He just hoped Harry didn’t have to record vocals the next day. Somehow, he felt that Harry was going to, and that he’d love doing it with a slightly scratchier voice).

It was almost 2 pm, and Louis’ stomach demanded to be fed. Almost against his own will, he got up. He was disgustingly filthy, but feeling Harry’s come between his ass cheeks was actually kind of arousing. His morning wood rejoiced. But, first, food. Being a decent person, he decided to put on some clothes, so his pants, which, he realised, were Harry’s, and the same Calvin Klein sweat from the night, that conveniently covered his crotch as well as the traces of come on his stomach. 

Finding his phone, he noticed a text from Harry. ‘Was in a hurry, couldn’t leave a proper note. Also, do u have paper?? You were amazing btw. Talk soon’

Grinning without shame, he replied. ‘Are you going commando or do you have my pants on? They’re dirty Harold’

Guessing Harry couldn’t reply promptly, being at work, Louis left his phone in his room and went down to eat.

He almost fainted seeing Zayn in the kitchen, fiddling with a wok.

“Z,” he said, his tone an apology already. “Hi…”

“So, you lied to me,” Zayn said, pouring some rice into the pan.

“I… I did?” Louis came closer.

“You told me, and I quote, that you’re good friends and he’s the best shag. Let me tell you, that’s not how you shag your friends. And I should know, mate, because I’ve listened to it all go down. Three times.”

This was probably one of the longest non-work-related speeches Zayn has made lately; Louis just blinked. 

“It’s… not?”

“You call each other names. Especially baby. A lot. He compliments you like you’re the fucking Mona Lisa. And half the time, I think he’s talking to your asshole.”

Louis coughed, blushing and hiding his face by opening the fridge.

“That’s what you do during sex, Z,” he explained, to fill the awkward silence, while grabbing some ice-cold dumplings, “You compliment the other person. It’s polite and it keeps them going. I suggest you try it with Liam, or he’ll think you’re not very experienced… or just quite rude.”

He turned around, shutting the fridge door with his hip, then leaning on it with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He fished for a dumpling in the sticky box and gave a bite (almost frozen, yes, but not too disgusting).

Zayn fixed his eyes on him, while still stirring his rice. “Look, Lou. I don’t think a platonic friend who’s good in bed would call you _the light of my life_. Like. That’s a lot, I feel.”

Louis choked on the last piece of food, his cheeks aflame. He had a recollection of what Zayn was talking about, but he’d already categorized that part as a dream.

“He… uh.”

Zayn just gave a satisfied smirk, checking on the content of his pan.

“Look, Z,” Louis shook up, giving up and deciding to microwave his leftovers, because he still had some respect for himself, “He was fucked out of his mind and I was riding him, which always makes him extra talkative-”

“I gathered that much,” Zayn stopped him. “Man. Louis. I don’t think you’re afraid of love. I think you’ve never… um, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve never had it. Aside from your family and friends, like. You don’t think people would go crazy for you. But. …They do. Harry definitely did. And I know it’s wild and it’ll be difficult and you might not see each other a lot at times, but you made it work before, right? All those phone calls, the sober rule, being friends… Just, you won’t be simply friends anymore.”

Another long speech. What even was this person and what had he done to Zayn?

“I… Z, the song.”

“Fuck that stupid song, mate! Fuck it! Maybe he was in love with a beautiful lady, now he’s in love with your stupid head, dumbass! Own it, accept it, embrace it, fuck.”

“He falls in and out of love easily,” Louis whispered, more to himself than to his friend.

“Even if that was the case? Does the flower kick the butterfly away only because afterwards she’ll be on another one?”

Louis snorted, although still red. “Fuck, you could have told me you were high.”

Zayn rolled his eyes, muttering something like ‘I wish I were, considering I’ve listened to you two scream like gutted pigs all night’.

Louis was unfocused though, the hazy memory of the early morning gaining a cleared shape in his head. The smell of sex and sweat, sunlight trying to sneak between the pulled blinds, golden dusty light and Harry’s hands clutching his hips tightly, as Louis bounced, eyes rolling behind his eyelids. Harry panting and screaming obscenities and praising him through it all.

 _“Fuck, yes, baby, yes! God! You’re the light of my fucking life, baby, I swear, fuck, yes”_

 

“It’s fucking amazing!” Louis jumped and threw his hands around Harry’s neck, letting the man spin him around, his feet leaving the air. “Fuck! I love it!” he grabbed Harry’s face between his hand and smacked his lips fast and hard, “I love it.”

His feet were on the ground again, Harry looked at him, scrunching his little nose and containing (barely) a fond look. Louis only beamed at him, though it only lasted about three seconds, before he realised the producers were with them. 

“Fuck, mate, thanks!” Louis hugged Jamie and then Mike, who hadn’t very much reacted to their PDA, but then again, they’d been seconds away from witnessing much worse quite often. Harry held and thanked them too, there were other people and everything was kind of a blur of satisfaction, compliments, nerves for when the song was going to drop, and someone had brought champagne, and Louis had kissed Harry in front of everyone for the first time (grinding and making out a bit on a crowded dancefloor didn’t count) and Harry evidently ached to return the favour, poking him or rubbing his hand in passing, hip-checking him when they were stood next to each other or undressing him with his eyes when they were mingling with other people. 

They talked business, promo, but Harry was leaving in two days, and they weren’t dropping the song straightaway. Which had Louis wondering about after. Around two months from now. When everything would be different, inevitably, because a bit more than a month had brought them to _this_ , which was remarkably unlike their relationship was before. Louis knew Harry. It wasn’t the first time he considered this, still baffled. He was friends with him, knew real shit about him. He knew about growing up in Cheshire, living above a pub, not as posh as people thought. He knew his taste in food and fashion. He knew Harry wasn’t that ‘be nice to nice’ sweet guy all the time, that he had a temper, he knew that his eyes were wet after passing a homeless man with their car, that he didn’t like his PR team, that he wasn’t the casanova they made him to be. He knew that he was keeping a secret, or even more than one. He knew about hushed phone calls and tight lipped smiles and he knew it wasn’t his place to ask. He knew about Harry’s anxieties, and how anyway, he managed to be the centre of everyone’s attention, wherever he went. He knew Harry valued him and respected him. He knew Harry wanted to blow him right that second, even though he was laughing with Jamie, pretending not to sneak a look at Louis every now and then. He knew things still weren’t okay between them and he knew he loved him too much for their own good.

Harry approached him and sneaked an arm around his waist, under the light jacket Louis was wearing, fingertips over his hip. He pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple that had him almost purr. God, what was happening to him?! Wanting to be all sappy and keening at the thought that everyone could see how cute they were around each other? The fuck. 

“We’re thinking Cirque, that okay with you?” Harry asked.

“Nice, yeah,” Louis nodded, “We have to celebrate.”

“Still can’t wait to get you alone,” Harry muttered against his hair, before raising his voice to address everyone else, “Let’s go?”

 

When Jamie poked Louis’ shoulder to tell that ‘We’re going, I hope you guys don’t mind’, the irony wasn’t lost on Louis, since he’d been snogging Harry on a secluded booth of the VIP area for the better part of an hour.  
After having greeted everyone, they resumed to their previous activity, but eventually decided to head at Harry’s, leaving from the back of the club a couple of minutes apart just to be safe.  
Louis could see what Harry wanted in his eyes, hoping that Harry could recognise in his that he was scared shitless. This could be it. This _would_ be it.

“You don’t come until I say so,” he hissed in Harry’s hear, a hand clasping his neck. 

They’d come to the studio separately, Louis with his driver, Harry with his own car. Louis fished the keys from Harry’s back pocket. “I’m driving,” he stated.

“Do even know how to?” Harry cackled, sticking his tongue between his teeth mischievously. Which shouldn’t have been so sexy, but alas.

“I know it’s the only way for me not to suck you cock, hence keeping us alive. Also, you’re a lightweight.”

“Am not.”

Louis took the driver seat, adjusting it significantly to meet the pedals. “Are too.”

Harry huffed, but got comfortable on the passenger side. 

“You look so cute,” he said after a while. Louis expected him to go on with a remark on how he was tiny or something, in this big ass car (Louis was more of a sports’ car man himself), but Harry was just looking at him, half-lidded eyes and teeth sinking in his bottom lip.

“Touch yourself,” Louis commanded, “Through the jeans, please.”

In an effort not to pull over and bend Harry on the backseat, Louis turned on the stereo system. A familiar guitar intro filled the air around them.

“Oasis,” he smirked, looking for something to say that would ease his mind off the lyrics digging a hole in his stomach, “How can you be a City fan, honestly.”

“That’s beyond me, I even asked them once, like last year,” Harry replied, voice drowsy. In his peripheral, Louis saw him cupping himself more and more insistently though the black fabric of his trousers. “But,” Harry continued, “I grew up with these words. Like… Made me want to live in a world where they applied to me.” 

Louis bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you now?” he asked.

Harry let out a whimper, Louis’ heartbeat picking up.

“I do.”

_Hold me down_  
_All the world’s asleep_  
_Need you now you’ve knocked me off my feet_  
_I dream of you and we talk of growing old_  
_But you said please don’t_

Harry was starting to writhe in place and breathe heavily, but Louis’ head was filled with honey and bittersweet words and his throat was constricted. 

_Now that you’re mine_  
_We’ll find a way_  
_Of chasing the sun_  
_Let me be the one that shines with you_  
_In the morning, we don’t know what to do_  
_Two of a kind_  
_We’ll find a way_  
_To do what we’ve done_  
_Let me be the one that shines with you_  
_And we can slide away_

“You’re really something else, aren’t you?” he rasped, his hands slightly sweaty on the wheel.

Harry opened one eye to glance at him. 

Steering abruptly, Louis pulled on a sidewalk. The streets were almost empty, he had no idea what time it was and he’d probably took the wrong route because he ignored where the fuck they were as well.

He struggled with his fucking seatbelt, then he jumped on Harry, straddling him. They boy was staring at him with his lips wet and parted, longer hair curling around his ear, eyelashes a bit shiny.

They could be the greatest thing in the world. Louis didn’t tell him. 

They kissed for an undefined amount of time, Harry clawing his back, hips, caressing his face, then fisting his hair; Louis’ hands on Harry’s biceps, jaw, chest, pulling his curls, thumbing his cheekbones.

Somehow, they made it home, Louis’ mind numb and buzzing at the same time as he drove, trying to find his way back, shockingly managing. He fucked Harry furiously on his living room carpet, mostly silent, if not for praising how fit and tight he was and how sublime it was to come inside him for real (Louis probably phrased it more like _fucking great_ , but still).

It wasn’t that late, and they still hadn’t had dinner, what with celebrating and all, but Louis couldn’t bear the thought of food. Harry, however, pulled out some stupid steamed vegetables and started eating silently, half naked, gangly legs covered in scratches catching Louis’ eyes as he tried to collect himself, because of whatever it was that was suffocating him, them, as they were desperately holding on to something that was slipping through their fingers. 

He got dressed and walked to smoke four consecutive cigarettes on the terrace, wind sweeping his hair back, but he’d recently got a trim, so no hair in his mouth, at least. He felt so fragile that even something like that could have pushed him deep into his imminent meltdown. He stood there, London lights underneath him and no stars above, vaguely reminiscent of chainsmoking in that same spot, on Harry’s birthday. Going back in and seeing him, on that stool, disgruntled like a soaked kitten, even though everyone’s attention revolved solely around him, even though the whole world fell under his spell. Louis hadn’t been immune. He remembered dancing, joking, running upstairs. The first time he’d seen Harry’s bedroom, wow. That hit him quite a lot. 

He stepped back inside, almost colliding with Harry, who apparently had just decided to stop being mopey in the kitchen and join him being mopey en plein air. 

Harry didn’t say a thing, but lightly pushed him to the glass door, slowly, pressing warm lips to Louis’ neck, lingering, wet, sweet. Louis was tingling everywhere. He locked his hands around Harry’s slim waist, radiating heat even if he was naked and Louis fully dressed. Louis was shivering.

“Can we do it again?” Harry asked. As if he’d have to ask.

“Bed, kitten,” he murmured, Harry almost sobbing at it, for whatever reason.

They fell onto Harry’s sheets quietly, Harry on his back, glazed eyes like emeralds. Louis undressed again, Harry staring at him in silence.

He wanted to open Harry up with his tongue, but Harry tasted so sweet and he rutted so helplessly against the covers that Louis decided to make him come like that.  
He fucked him all the same afterwards, because Harry begged him to, nice and slow until they were both trembling and came almost at the same time.

 

‘Having a late lunch with people for tour things. Come down whenever but in clothes. Or stay upstairs until I join you but without. x H’ 

Harry had even drawn a heart at the bottom of his note. Louis pursed his lips, trying not to be as adoring as he was of everything that his stupid tall hipster did. 

He opted for taking a long shower, where he most definitely did not let water mix with a few tears because this was his final day, his actual last day with Harry for god knows how long, and the last _like this_ anyway.

After drying his hair, he snuggled in bed again, feeling a bit trapped. He couldn’t even leave unless he wanted to face all of ‘Harry’s people’, and he really didn’t want to, not right now. He couldn’t hear a word about South America or wherever, about entourage and hotel rooms and that life that was so thrilling, so epic. He couldn’t imagine Harry, all adrenaline and high after a show, sweaty and in his gold booties, the lucky ones that he was going to wear at the first show. He couldn’t think that this waited for Louis, too, and he loved life on the road, but it all seemed so empty, somehow, compared to this.

Louis decided to sleep some more, then hit the gym that, he’d discovered, hid behind one of the doors across those of the bedrooms. He ran on the treadmill – Louis fucking despised running with a burning passion – until his lungs were burning and he couldn’t feel his legs. He threw some punches, but Harry’s boxing gear was big on him, and he probably weighted way less than the sack.  
A new shower became necessary, then some Netflix & not a lot of chill. Louis needed a smoke but his pack was forgotten downstairs, fuck, Louis wasn’t that much of an addict. 

There was something oddly domestic about being in this humongous place, Harry somewhere, Louis elsewhere, both minding their own business, but knowing the other was present, knowing they’d be together at some point. Harry’s office slash cocooning book room was next to the gym, which was just the perfect metaphor of the complexity of Harry’s persona. Louis browsed through some books, reading poetry on the big armchair where Harry had facetimed his mom while Louis was going down on him. Another nice metaphor, probably. 

It was almost 8 pm when he got a text from Harry.

‘It’s dragging a bit, join me? Or not. Hope you’re having fun whatever you’re doing. so sorry, wanted to spend today with you :( ’

He was lying, though. Spending that last day together would be horrible and heartbreaking. They both knew it.

Louis, as it was, was fucking hungry. Luckily, he knew that one of the guestrooms was equipped with some sort of candy display, since Harry was convinced that Gemma would have a kid soon, and he thought the jars of colourful candy made a cute décor (he was right, ugh). Louis ate marshmallows and M&M’s, feeling utterly unsatisfied, yet weirdly giddy at the same time. 

Around nine, he was back in Harry’s bedroom, and soon enough he heard his muffled steps, realising he was coming up.  
He hid in the ensuite, nursing some sort of panic attack, because he didn’t even know, because he wanted to go now and to stay forever, but that wasn’t possible. Fuck, Louis, grow the fuck up. Harry does not love you, fuck. He wondered if they’d only used each other to numb how fucked up they were, in some way. Maybe he was just really drained from working out and only eating a handful of candy and _he fucking needed a smoke_ and had to get it together and oh god, was he talking to himself now?

Harry knocked on the door, softly, like it wasn’t his ensuite where he’d walked in on Louis showering, only to join him most of the time.

“Lou… Lou, are you okay?”

Louis didn’t reply. 

“I was hoping you’d come down. I texted you three times.”

Louis had left his phone in the candy room.

“Are you mad at me or something? It’s not like I could postpone this, Louis, I leave in less than forty-eight hours!”

Louis had turned his back on the mirror and was staring intently at the door, as if to convey his feelings through it. He jumped when the door slammed open and Harry rushed in, looking posh and put together, slightly flushed from too much wine, while Louis was wearing a thin jumper with a hole on its shoulder and Harry’s track bottoms. 

Their eyes burned holes into each other. Harry was in his space in no time, biting his cheeks and jaw and dragging his teeth and tongue on Louis’ neck, sharply, solid hands hoisting him up on the marble counter next to the sink, then firmly tugging down his sweats, opening his legs.

Louis was already panting, almost afraid to meet the fire in Harry’s eyes. The sink wasn’t very high, and if Louis leaned a bit, they could still be face to face. He preferred to avoid it, wrapping his arms around Harry’s head and resting his beside it.

Harry ducked back, however, Louis’ hands clasping his neck. Harry spat on his fingers and Louis almost cried.

“Tell me to stop,” Harry said, voice so low and dripping with lust that it made Louis’ interiors vibrate. 

Louis pressed his lips together and opened his legs a bit more, sliding forward to let Harry have his way easier. 

The first finger had him bury his face in Harry’s hair, all but collapsing on him. It wasn’t as easy as with lube but it was better, rawer, hurting and feeling good. 

“Up here, all alone,” Harry was muttering, picking up his pace. Louis’ walls already felt slicker and ready for more. “Did you miss me?”

Louis didn’t reply, only planting his fingernails more bluntly in Harry’s scalp.

“Will you miss me?” Harry kept on. 

Louis stayed silent, save for the fact that he was moaning more and more breathy, starting to grind back on Harry’s finger.  
Harry gave him another, Louis gasping loudly, clenching around the two. Harry knew exactly were to touch Louis to make him lose it, and this time he was purposeful, this wasn’t leading to anything that wasn’t Louis’ complete demise. He was going so fast and Louis was completely lost in the feeling, panting and drooling in Harry’s hair, having trouble breathing. Harry added another finger. God, his fingers were so impossibly long and they could perform magic, honest to god fucking magic.  
Louis couldn’t see straight anymore.

“Who else is gonna do you like this, uh, Louis?” Harry huffed, nosing his jaw, humid breath on his neck and collarbones, barely visible but stingy stubble tickling Louis’ skin. “Tell me.”

Louis just sobbed violently, because Harry was pumping his fingers harder and harder, never missing the spot. He felt his walls stretching and melting around Harry’s skilful fingers, the ache was already so delicious and Louis was getting looser by the second, wet with Harry’s spit, and he was flooded with how good he felt, fire all over, shaking uncontrollably. 

“Tell me,” Harry urged him again, punctuating every word with the ruthless piercing of his hand. The other one curled around Louis’ cock, Louis bucking up in Harry’s vicious fist, just faintly, because he was drained of any kind of energy. “Who else?” 

“No one,” Louis croaked, hiccupped. Harry’s fist was still on him, as if to hold him down while his body was bounced by Harry’s movements, Louis’ arms loosely thrown around the man’s neck. “No one can- _Ah!_ ” 

He couldn’t muster coherent words anymore, so he just buried his head on Harry’s, crying helpless moans.

Harry didn’t ask for a clearer reply, being either okay with it, or too lost himself to care.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hoarse, biting the flesh under Louis’ ear, fingers never relenting, making Louis jump and tremble. “You’re mine.”

Tingles were propagating from Louis’ head to all of his body. Harry’s possessiveness felt sick, dangerous, but somehow sweet, and perfect.

“Mine,” Harry said again, almost like a prayer. He dragged Louis’ foreskin down slowly, making him wail, before starting to stroke him in earnest, in time with the harsh pushing of his three fingers, now buried inside him, only curling and going deeper and crazy faster. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Louis nodded feverishly, mouth ajar, panting _yeah, yeah_ , eyes burning like the rest of him. He was fucking close and he would probably pass out if this went on longer, but he clung onto the feeling with everything in himself, he never wanted it to end.  
His ears were ringing, his vision was blurry, watery, as if every other sense was dimming itself to make him feel this, _Harry_ , even more.

What he didn’t expect was to hear a whine, just as broken as the ones he was emitting, leave Harry’s lips, still behind his ear. “Please. Please be mine.”

Of everything, this was what caused Louis to break down and spill for so, so long all over Harry’s fist, as he worked him through it, between their wrecked bodies, until exhaustion.

Louis slid off the sink, leaning all of his weight on Harry. He felt so tired that he thought he’d pass out on the floor if he hadn’t held his arms around Harry’s neck so tight; Harry helped him with a hand around his waist, Louis felt it slick and wet and he couldn’t even tell if it was the one with the spit or the one with the come. He didn’t mind. 

He reached a hand down to grab Harry’s crotch, but he was gently brushed off. “I’ll be done in like… two seconds,” Harry explained, a hand down his trousers, Louis looking at him beneath heavy eyelids. “You’re too tired and you should go to bed. I’ll come clean you up.”

 _I love you_. “’kay,” he stumbled away, but Harry was still there to help him keep his balance.

Louis had no recollection of how exactly he’d made it to the bed without going back to suck the life out of Harry, but, once he was sliding under the silk sheets, he thought Harry had been right, because he felt entirely too boneless and his heart was still dancing in his chest and throat, making him even dizzier. He was a little chilly, so he put another pair of Harry’s sweats on, relishing how comfy and big they felt against his sore body.

Harry was true to his word, reaching him a mere minute later, in his pants, bearing soft looking, and definitely warm towels.

Louis felt hazy and cared for, and he didn’t speak until Harry lifted a corner of the sheets to join him under.

“Do you want me to go?” was probably the stupidest thing to say, but alas.

They were facing each other, Harry looking just as well-fucked as Louis himself, blotchy cheeks and lucid eyes. He was so handsome that Louis thought he might tear up again. This was becoming too frequent, being awed by Harry, being moved by him. 

“Do you want to go?” Harry asked, managing to come off sweet and a tad irritated at the same time.

“No!” the syllable left Louis’ lips so hurriedly that he felt the need to correct himself, “No, but, do you think it would be easier? Like… do you want me to, really?”

“You know, Louis,” Harry said, slow and hoarse, “Sometimes I feel like you have no idea what I want.”

“You could tell me,” Louis fired back, voice soft, but tone pointed.

Harry blinked fast, as if he was realising it for the first time. “You’re right.”

Louis didn’t reply, staring straight into Harry’s eyes, their breath mingling in the little space left between them.

“I’m scared,” Harry whispered. 

Louis bit his lip, fighting against his will to close his eyes because the urge to just gaze at Harry was stronger.

“How about,” Louis murmured, fixing a strand of Harry’s hair that was covering his eyes, then leaving his hand on Harry’s cheek, “You tell me tomorrow. I want us to have this conversation sober.”

“It’s easier this way,” Harry mumbled, but he closed his eyes and scooted closer to Louis, wrapping a heavy arm around him.

Louis chuckled on his shoulder. “I lost count of how many times we’ve said this shit.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry drawled. It felt like a promise. Louis nodded against his skin and dozed off within minutes.

 

Tomorrow came too soon. Louis felt well rested, having gone to bed quite early, for once, but he was still sore and floaty, feeling like reality could slip through his fingers at any time. Harry’s bed was welcoming and the light from outside suggested a pleasant day, the promise of spring vibrant in the way every colour seemed a bit brighter.  
But Harry wasn’t with him, and Louis was about to freak out again. Harry wanted to talk, and talk meant probably about the song, because they were done, over, concluded, and he couldn’t possibly refuse to know the meaning behind it anymore. And he knew it would suck, but another part of him seemed to be carrying a sparkle of positivity. He didn’t know why, and any other day he would have probably tried to kill it, but maybe it was all within the weird altered reality feel of that morning.  
On the other hand, however, he couldn’t be oblivious to how he felt with Harry, to the stuff that Harry had said, to the glimmer in his eyes. They’d shared too many of those moments to brush them off. Fuck, every moment with them was one of those, from Harry laughing so much at one of Louis’ jokes that he’d spilled his stupid green juice from his nose, to the fact that he’d managed to have Louis drink that shit and enjoy it; from falling asleep next to him like it was the most natural thing, and waking up shocked and awed every time, to the times they’d confessed their fears, their dreams; from singing to drinking, from fucking to fighting. From the BRITs to now, he realised. From the beginning. He’d thought he’d fallen in love with Harry somewhere between the mind-blowing shags, the deep conversations and the lyrics of songs they’d listened to together, songs he listened to alone, songs he had written, songs he had yet to write. But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this was written in his fate or something he didn’t even believe in until now. Or maybe this feeling of being suspended between a harsh reality and the sweetest of fictions was going to his head.

Either way, he had to clear is head, which he thought of achieving by washing his face and brushing his teeth, trying to ignore the fact that the first time he’d slept at Harry’s, a little over a month before, he’d had to basically swallow mouthwash in order to make himself kissable again; now, he had his own toothbrush (‘Look, I keep spare ones in the guestrooms, I just think it’s more practical if we keep one for you here, since, you know. It’s new, and it’s light blue. It basically has your name on it’. He was also pretty sure Harry would have – and had – kissed him with morning breath already, so there was that.  
Louis’ head wasn’t clearer. He needed to see Harry.  
He ran a hand over his scruff, sighed at his own reflection, and padded outside the room, barefoot, after having rolled Harry’s joggers above his ankles and slipped his Rolling Stones vintage t-shirt on. 

All of the doors in the corridor were closed, which had become their signal that Harry was, in fact, downstairs: he would leave a door open if he decided to work, shower or get dressed in another room at the top floor, although lately he’d been doing in their room, with Louis still asleep. _The_ room. The room. Not theirs, for fuck’s sake.  
Mentally scolding himself for where his mind was headed (how many times had they done this? Breakfast together, then work together? They had ‘signals’ now? Louis had a toothbrush? It had only been like a month, bloody hell), Louis reached the end of the stairwell, where he was met by the smell of eggs and the noise of a blender.

Harry was in the kitchen, in his pants, a tall smoothie glass in one hand and the blender in the other, pouring some pale green slime into it.

Louis was helplessly endeared. “I’m not having that,” he declared.

“I need it, I felt gross after eating shit all day yesterday” Harry replied easily, not a hint to the fact that Louis could have been with him but was binging on candies and tv shows upstairs. He even gave him a dimpled smile, adding, “I made you proper English, but please try some? It’s celery, apple and lime. It’s really good.”

“Yeah… no,” he whispered, fighting the urge to kiss Harry’s quirked lips. “G’morning.”

“Sleep okay?” Harry asked, fixing him a plate with eggs, a piece of toast, two small sausages and two strips of bacon, and sliding it on the island. (Louis hated beans. Harry never forgot that)

Louis sat on the stool positioned so that he could stare at Harry’s back while cleaned the stove. “Mh,” he nodded, a forkful of scramble already in his mouth, “I don’t even have a headache.”

“Good,” Harry turned to him, the first sip of his green smoothie leaving a tiny moustache on his upper lip. “Me too.”

“Must be the magic juice.”

Harry took a seat too, “Must be.”

They ate in silence, the weight of things left unsaid hanging over them like never before. 

Harry went for a banana but set it down next to his now empty glass after a few seconds. Louis was thankful for that. He was also kind of sad, because any other day, Harry would have made a show of it and Louis would have mocked him, pretending to be unaffected, until the moment he caved in.

“Erm, so,” Louis started, but he sounded so raucous and weird that he cleared his throat, and tried again, “I… I feel like I have to thank you. For everything. For having me on the song, you know.”

Harry glanced at his own hands, clasped over the table, then looked up at him, biting his lip. 

“It only made sense, you know… Louis,” Harry took a deep breath and definitely wanted to say something else, but he’d waited for too long and Louis couldn’t take that kind of tension.

“It did?” he asked, with a nervous chuckle. “I mean, I’m glad, honestly, but I was so surprised when you first came to me with the idea, I, uh, I hadn’t seen it coming.”

“Oh, I had…” Harry’s eyes. God. Louis saw everything in them. Some kind of fierce determination, a hint of nervousness, and something strong and sweet that he couldn’t quite place and that made it harder for him to find air.

Harry was playing with the bracelet on his wrist, the one Louis got him (did he ever take it off?), he glanced at it for a second, but then he was back on Louis, who, on his side, was quite perplexed and confused and particularly edgy. He’d seen something coming, but being in the moment was still like standing on the edge of something potentially amazing, well aware of the risk of falling down.

“Lou,” Harry reclaimed his attention, voice slightly hoarser than before, “Just… Are you shitting me now?”

Louis widened his eyes. “Am I what?”

“Do you seriously not know?!” Harry seemed exasperated.

“I’m starting to feel really weird, H, so please-”

“Lou!” Harry interrupted him, which was unusual on his side. He looked somewhat harsh, severe, and also kind of vulnerable, “The reason I wanted you on the song! Please be serious!”

Now Louis was annoyed: Harry was stalling, clearly aware of how oblivious Louis was, and still making him beg for the truth. Like please, yeah, stab my heart, I’ll be fine, it’s not like I’m in love with every fucking thing about you. “Fucking tell me, alright?! Get on with it, fuck, grow a pair!”

Harry was baffled, “What?! I was gonna tell you anyways, and I would have done it in LA already, but like- Lou! You _begged_ me not to tell you!”

“Well, yeah,” Louis shrugged. He was wrong, and he knew it, but he couldn’t let Harry win an argument, “But now you’re acting stupid and I just wanted to thank you for having me on the song and be on my fucking way, but-”

“I wrote it about you!” Harry exclaimed, and, _what_?! Louis could only stare at him. He looked shocked, as if the words had left his mouth too soon, but also satisfied, because he would have said them anyways. He was wide-eyed, scared but so, so brave, and he stunned Louis speechless. 

“Lou, that’s why I wanted you on the song, I needed you on the song, even. That’s it! I’ve been writing it since 2014, I finished it after Nick’s party and waited for the chance to ask you to sing on it ever since. It’s you, okay? You idiot. It’s _all_ about you. I can’t believe you… You really didn’t know?”

His voice had softened toward the end.

Louis was just staring at him, positively astounded. For a moment, time was frozen, there was nothing but the stream on sunlight reflecting on the smooth surface of the kitchen island, his heart drumming, shaky breaths, green green eyes and rosy cheeks in front of him. 

Then, he woke up. “What… what do you mean” he rasped, sounding even more of a mess than how he suddenly felt, moments and memories and hopes and was this real and what did it mean and how was it possible? 

“I mean,” Harry said, calmly, although his wide eyes betrayed him, “That I was thinking about you. Some things you said to me. How you made me feel. Like… like we could have it all. In another world, but you don’t believe in those, I know that now, but I didn’t know then, so… But then you happened and what we have…” God, his eyes were watery and his cheeks red. Louis wanted to kiss him forever. But he also wanted to listen. Harry took a shaky breath and continued. “I don’t know, Lou, what we have is so great, and I thought, maybe we don’t need another world, like, maybe, maybe… this one?”

Louis’ bottom lip was shaking and he put a hand on his mouth to look more collected, but his eyes were filling up now, his whole body feverish and brain buzzing. 

“Harry,” he croaked. He had so much to say, so much to ask. But only one thing came out. “It’s… it’s a…”

 _A love song_.

Harry put Louis out of his misery with a tiny, firm nod, fiercely keeping their gazes locked. “I know”

Louis was on him in a second, knocking the stool on the floor. Harry clutched his waist tightly as Louis threw his arms around his neck, burying his face on the other’s bare shoulder. He wondered how Harry could always be so warm, like a human sunshine, but he realised it wasn’t even that surprising. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a tiny exhale, but he kind of knew the answer already. Or a ton of possible ones.

Harry was bracketing Louis’ body with his legs, open to make room for him, as Harry was sitting on his stool; Louis felt small and protected.

Louis was well aware that Harry could have gone for any kind of motivation, suddenly understanding why he’d acted so weird in LA, his heart breaking for the way he himself had reacted, for how Harry must have felt. He loosened his arms a bit in order to look at Harry. Meeting his eyes was difficult, strange, like finding someone completely new in someone you know perfectly. It was also amazing. 

“I… I mean. You asked me not to, but if I’m honest, I was selfish,” Harry said. “And stupid. Because I thought I liked having you in my bed too much to risk losing it with my feelings, because you didn’t feel the same but you were attracted to me too, so... For a second I also thought that maybe it was some kind of sexual attraction gone too far on my side too, you know? And it was so lame, because it only took me a day to see how gone I was for you, but I didn’t want to scare you off, I thought I could either make you see and understand how I felt, or just… God.”

Harry ran a hand on his face. Louis took it delicately and replaced it with his own, keeping it on Harry’s cheek. 

“Go on,” he prompted.

Harry nodded, “I didn’t want to give it up. Whatever we had. Even if it was just shagging it still was the best of my life and I thought, maybe I’ll be broken when it ends, but I can’t _not_ have it now, you know? I was like a junkie. Couldn’t go without you. I’m sorry.”

Louis was gobsmacked. “I… Harry. I am sorry, actually. For LA, for stopping you when you… wanted to, I think?”

Harry nodded, glancing down. He looked so vulnerable, half naked, all perched up on the stool, but Louis felt so protected in his arms, he felt at ease, and he felt at home. He always felt like this around Harry, especially when they were all wrapped up in each other.

“I, um, I kinda forced it on you at that point. It was too late and you didn’t want to hear it, which, I mean, you were trying to let me down easy, I guess? But now you tell me you didn’t even know and-”

“What the fuck?!” Louis exclaimed. Interrupting was very much like him, anyways. “Let you down easy?! Like… how the fuck would I know the song was about me, Harold! It talks about a girl in a freaking dress”

Harry let out a choked cackle, his hands running higher on Louis back. “I’m a closeted singer, Lou. It’s the only way I could record it. But also, it was an image, like, a reference, a metaphor of sorts. When you danced to Lana del Rey in the dressing room, ‘I got my red dress on tonight, dancing in the dark in the-’”

Once again, Louis didn’t let him finish, pressing their mouths together in a bruising kiss that got heated quickly, each of them chasing the other’s taste like it was the only thing that made sense in the world. (It was). 

“I can’t believe it,” Louis panted after a while, distancing himself just enough to be able to speak as he cupped Harry’s face with his hands, “I can’t believe you. I didn’t even remember which song it was! You’re such a fucking poet.”

“I could never forget,” Harry admitted, bashful, “It was life-changing to me. I was still pretty new to everything, you know, I felt so young and I’d just had a panic attack and then you showed up, you didn’t owe shit to me, you barely knew me, and god, I admired you so much, Louis. I was there in a cloud of smoke and you got up to dance, like, the way your body moved, I was, like, this is it, this is what I’m here for, and I thought my god, is this boy that great of a dancer, am I too high to function or am I falling in love with him?”

Louis almost blacked out for a moment, drunk on the sound of his and Harry’s heartbeats and of Harry’s words. Then he kissed Harry again, simply because it was all he could do. Try to convey how he was feeling, how he was flying, wondering if everything was a dream and gripping on reality with all that he had. His reality was Harry’s strawberry mouth and it was his dream, too. It all was colliding at it was so much to handle, Louis thought he would combust with joy and passion and…

“I love when you shut me up like this,” Harry murmured on his mouth, Louis pulling his bottom lip with his teeth and then releasing it to kiss him again.

Louis giggled.

“I love kissing you,” Harry added.

“Mmh,” Louis nodded, forcing Harry’s lips even wider open with his own, scratching his scalp.

“I also love when you hum like this while we’re making out,” Harry managed to blabber. 

“Yeah?” Louis exhaled, millimetres away from those bitten red lips.

Harry’s hand on the back of Louis’ head pulled him forward. “I love the way you taste,” Harry moaned, searching Louis’ mouth with his tongue, “Love your scruff.”

Louis just hummed again, kissing him harder, to make him feel the scruff he _loved_ so much. He pulled Harry’s hair, making him flex his neck to a side. Louis wanted to bite him.

“Mh, love when you do that,” Harry keened.

“Love you,” Louis said, just naturally, because it was on the tip of his tongue, because it was true, pushing Harry’s hair back from his forehead with one hand. 

Harry almost fell from the stool, as if the words had physically hit him. 

“Hey,” Louis just whispered, feeling a little bashful as he poked Harry’s dimple with his index. Then Harry was back to him, large hand framing his face and plump wet lips to kiss him messier than before. 

“I’m in love with you,” he was panting between their lips, spit still connecting them until he would sink down again, “I’m so in love with you, Lou, is it insane? I feel like every day I’m falling for you, and like I’ve fallen so long ago.”

“I…” Louis let out, “I don’t think it’s insane. And I don’t care if it is.”

“I love you,” Harry repeated.

Louis’ heart was about to burst. He could have never imagined such an outcome, but at the same time, he could have never imagined a different one. Everything was falling into place, everything was right. Nothing would be easy, maybe. But everything was right.

“Same,” Louis chuckled.

Harry quirked his brow, amused, “Same?”

Louis laughed, sticking out his tongue at him, then kissing his forehead. “You’re too easy, kitten.”

Harry’s eyes were shinier than any star. 

Louis took his hand and dragged him off the stool, “Take me to bed, love.”

 

Making love with Harry wasn’t that different than fucking Harry. Probably they’d done a bit of both since the very first time.

If anything, Harry’s talk was filthier than usual, _I’m gonna wreck you, destroy you, I want to tear you apart, gonna scream so loud you lose your voice_ , but it was alternated with whispers (or, in the heat of the moment, shouts) of _I love you, I love you, you’re perfect, my baby, I love you, all mine_. 

Louis was in heaven. He never wanted to come down.

 

“I’ll see you in Buenos Aires in two weeks, alright? We’ll be fine.”

Louis nodded, both his hands into Harry’s, between their chests. “I’m sorry I can’t come sooner,” he added, pouting.

Harry kissed his forehead. “Go record the shit out of those songs. They’re amazing.”

Louis rolled his eyes, “Only because they’re about you.”

Harry laughed, blush tinting his cheeks, but sent him a wicked grin. “Should I get ‘No control’ tattooed on my c-”

Louis pushed his hand on his boyfriend’s mouth. “We’re in public, Harold.”

“You’ll perform the song in front of the masses.”

“The masses,” Louis chuckled.

“And soon enough,” Harry whispered, “They’ll know who it’s about.”

Louis cupped Harry’s face to place a playful kiss on his nose. “I’m so proud of you, baby. Just the final leg of the tour and then you’re free!”

Harry’s arms locked around his back and they were flushed together. Louis inhaled Harry’s scent, for the last time in a while, but he wasn’t sad anymore. Well, he was, but he was also confident, satisfied, buzzing with inspiration for his own work, and he was loved. God, he’d never been so loved.

“It’s all because of you, you know?” Harry whispered. “I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“Nice,” Louis breathed on his shirt. “I can’t wait.”

They’d gone a bit through their past, the previous day, but to be quite honest, they’d spent also a lot of time having obnoxiously loud sex, reiterating that they loved each other, showing and singing to each other snippets of songs that they’d written lately, inspired by their time together, and then organising an impromptu going-away-on-tour party of sorts for Harry, with all of their friends – they did it at Louis’ because it was more of an open space, absolutely not because there were suspicious traces of them all over Harry’s flat. And well, a day goes by quite fast when you’re young, have incredible stamina, tons of songs in the back of your mind and lots of friends waiting to say ‘I told you so’. Oh, and when you’re fucking in love.

“Harry!” Harry’s manager (not too fond of Louis, but having accepted that the Harry-is-straight charade was about to drop dead forever) gestured at the plane. “We’re ready.”

“I’m off,” Harry whispered, still holding Louis. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“Me too. Blow their minds, kitten.”

“People will die when we drop the song,” Harry chuckled, “I think we have shippers already!”

“What are… shippers?”

“HARRY!” Manager and PA were getting antsy by the jet’s wing. 

“A story for another time, love,” Harry giggled, pecking his lips. “Bye.”

But he didn’t step away, and Louis knew why. Hands in Harry’s hair, he kissed him senseless, wrapping a leg around his middle, which Harry promptly grasped, hand sneakily gliding toward his ass.

After a while, Harry’s people came to force them apart.

“Call you when I land,” Harry promised.

“I’ll be up,” Louis smiled.

Their fingers were the last grip they had to let go, and then Harry was walking to his tour plane (I don’t have a private plane my ass, Louis scoffed internally).

“Hey, Styles!” he called after him. 

Harry turned, fashion week worthy outfit underlining the perfect shape of his, body so lithe and gorgeous, unreal, sunlight making his skin glow, his eyes already crinkling as an effect of his best frog smile, dimple visible from space. 

“You’re the light of my fucking life!” Louis yelled, making a megaphone out of his hands for maximized dramatic effect, before breaking into a manic laugh and running off, the image of Harry, shining like the sun at his words, stamped forever in front of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo this is it! well, almost. there will be an epilogue and some loose ends will be tied there, but this chapter is already quite big and i felt like ending it this way. if you have something you'd like to see / know in the epilogue, feel free to tell me. i have an idea of how i want it to go but i honestly want it to be as satisfying as possible for everyone so really, tell me. :)  
> hope you like this!  
> again, sorry for the editing, hopefully it's okay.  
> (the song is slide away by oasis, i cried while writing. highly recommend)  
> thank you SO MUCH for the kind, adorable, insightful, brilliant comments. love you guys.  
> xx N


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :)

The first time Harry saw Louis Tomlinson, he was on a white sand beach in sunny Malibu. ‘He’ as in Louis Tomlinson, because Harry was in foggy Cheshire, and to be more specific he was crossing the living room to get to the kitchen to fetch himself a banana.  
It was the first day of 2011, so Gemma had dibs on the TV – since she would be leaving soon – and Harry didn’t even care, because he had drunk some cheap liquor last night, mixed with sugary juices, and too much beer, and now he had a headache.  
Louis Tomlinson was prancing around on the television screen, singing and laughing, while a group of slim, pretty, all-American girls jumped around him, obviously entranced by his raspy voice, sharp cheekbones, oh, blue eyes and wow – the camera captured him full body, now – wearing red chinos and a striped shirt, fitted just right, and Harry might have stopped on his steps to admire what was obviously the peak of pop music’s glory. Because Harry had always appreciated good music and a good video shoot, okay.

His reverie was broken when a screeching sound threatened to provoke an immediate outburst of blood from his ears. Gemma was singing. She stood up on the couch, Harry seeing the back of her, while she swayed, blissfully oblivious to his presence, and kept on singing excitedly, flapping her arms in the air and jumping a bit. 

“Baby you light up my world like noboooody else, the way-”

“Sssh!” Harry, having sneaked behind her and collected a pillow from his grandpa’s favourite armchair, finally pressed it to her mouth.

“AH! Fuck you!” she screamed, having been released quite immediately (because Harry’s a good brother and a good person, too). “You idiot!” she slapped his arm, “I was watching!”

“You can’t jump on the couch,” Harry simply stated, circling it to go sit next to her. “So, who’s this?” he nodded to the TV, where a golden sunset underlined the figure of the petite boy whose eyelashes seem to be quite long (Harry had paid attention to the close-ups), as he walked away surrounded by his suite of charmed followers. He was slim and kind of tiny, yet the curve of his bum was something to be analysed further. Or studied by scientists. Philosophers. Whomever. 

“Who’s this?!” Gemma looked at him, eyes bulging dramatically. 

Well, yes: the first time Harry saw Louis Tomlinson, he didn’t even know his name. It always starts like that, though, doesn’t it? You don’t know someone until you do. Harry will find himself thinking about this quite often, in the future.

“Yeah,” he urged his sister, slightly petulant because he knows she’ll be annoyed. “Who’s this. It’s a catchy tune.”

“Well, that would be Louis Tomlinson, you ignorant swine,” Gemma snarls. “And he’s the prettiest star in the sky, isn’t he?” 

Lord, her voice got softer. Gemma, who could scare Lucifer on one of her good days. 

“It’s a catchy tune,” Harry repeated. He didn’t feel the need to develop any further. It was true, anyways. “I’m going to get a banana.”

 

The first time Harry realised he had a crush on Louis Tomlinson, it was in his management’s office. He was still a bit dumbstruck, insanely giddy of how everything seemed to be working for him, after years of battles of bands as a kid, and nagging anxiety before going on stage, and then deciding to go to a random open mic while visiting Gemma in London, because hey, at least nobody knew him there. Now, _everybody’s gonna know your name, kid_ , and he still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t process it to the point where he felt mildly guilty, as if he’d been navigating his (now extremely lucky) life without fully grasping how epic what was going on was. And yet, this Harry remembers, will remember until the day he dies, his heart started drumming faster when he heard someone in those sleek, cold-looking offices mention Louis en passant. He might actually _meet him_ , he thought, they lived in the ‘same world’ now, for how ridiculous it sounded. Harry was about to discuss his own future career in the music industry, what the hell, and he got excited because someone was saying that ‘Tomlinson’s new song is a banger, right?’ and ‘Yeah, met the kid at a party a few weeks back’. Also, Harry had a girlfriend. It wasn’t anything particularly serious, and she had a poster of Louis in her room, just above the bed, which made it a little awkward when they snogged and Harry opened his eyes a bit to check Louis out. But still. Harry had liked boys before, way more than girls, even, so it wasn’t that, really… He just didn’t even know this bloke, and yet he would pop in his mind at the weirdest times. And now, he could actually meet him. That’s when it really hit Harry: he was going to make music, live for it and of it. 

 

The first time Harry met Louis Tomlinson, it was the BRITs afterparty. Clearly, Harry had to make a fool of himself and fall on him, but he was sufficiently intoxicated not to freak out – unlike Gemma, who fangirled like crazy – and anyway, he’d kind of considered the possibility, given that Louis was there, and Harry’s mum’s friend, James, knew that he was Harry’s ‘celebrity crush’. 

 

The first time Harry felt overwhelming admiration for who Louis was as a man, other than for his brilliant work as an artist, was when he read about his coming out. And so it went on: there were a lot of firsts with Louis, he was a surprising person, sparkling with talent, laughter and wit, he had sass for everyone and he seemed down-to-earth, even though he was quickly becoming one of the biggest deals in the industry. There was the first time Harry realised Louis had very nice collarbones, which coincidentally was the first time he got off to the thought of him, the first time Harry didn’t feel like flirting with a girl, like _what’s the point_ , the first time he couldn’t get it up with one – and maybe this wasn’t all Louis, maybe it wasn’t Louis at all, but Louis helped Harry through it, unknowingly, with his soothing voice and with his pride and braveness.

 

The first time Harry wondered if he might be in love with Louis, they were high, young and nervous, ‘Summertime sadness’ was playing, Lana’s sexy crooning paled in comparison when Louis got up to sway drowsily. He was hypnotising, he was all Harry could want. He could see himself with this boy, sheets tangled up at their feet, making him scream his name, or drunk in some warm country, hugging it out at an awards show, running after children in a home they’d made for themselves. Maybe it was the drugs, Harry thought. Maybe it was the music, or the scented candles, Christmas time, the event they were at. Maybe it was that the anxiety Harry had been feeling for his upcoming performance had subsided almost too quickly, as soon as Louis had come looking for him in his dressing room, leaving Harry spacey, mind fuzzy, Louis the only focus, radiating light and happiness and possibilities. Maybe it was Louis.

That was also the first time Harry and Louis kissed, and it was, for lack of a better fitting term, magical. Just magical, unreal and yet the realest Harry had ever felt. All cliché candlelit and moonlight and caresses and love songs. Moonlight was more like neon lights of a green room, but Louis lips were so firm, wet, smooth, pink, they might as well be laying on a white sand beach or outside a fancy ballroom in a Jane Austen novel, that’s how perfect it was. It felt timeless, meant to be in every world, in every way. It was that level of cheesy perfection, but at this point, Harry was fairly certain it was only him. after all, he was the one who had harboured a celebrity crush that had soon become a real crush on this wonderful human. And, right when he wondered if it was all in his mind, how great Louis was, Louis had come to him and showed him, he was even better than Harry had imagine. The inside of his mouth tasted like weed and strawberries, he was warm and lithe and wiry, sweet and biting, he was everything. It was right then, Harry realised, this had gone too far and it wasn’t the weed nor his fragile state of mind. It was Louis, and Harry was definitely, stupidly in love with him.

It all went to shit the same night, just hours after Louis had kissed Harry’s forehead after his soundcheck.

“You were gorgeous! Like, voice and- Just everything. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” Harry had blushed, struggling to find something else to say, to keep the conversation going.

“Nothing but the truth.”

So why was Louis blowing someone else and talking dirty like it was for Harry’s ears only? He was messing with Harry’s hair, that’s what he was doing. He was an asshole and Harry was so lame, why did he even like him so much, god, now he was crying, on the floor of a bathroom stool, after trying to get a girl to give him head, instead getting the final, definite confirmation that he was one hundred per cent gay.

Louis sat on the floor, feeling drunk, high, alive and yet dead at the same time. He felt Harry breathing in the other stool. Or was he… crying?  
He couldn’t be sure, but his stomach twisted.

“Hey, man,” Louis was saying. _Man. What happened to baby, to gorgeous?_ “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

_You’re not sorry at all, you little shit._

“Thanks for today,” Louis added. Harry heard the door unlocking.

_No, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou. Don’t leave. I hate you. I like you so much._

“I didn’t mind!” was all Harry could say. It wasn’t nearly close to enough.

That night, at home, restless in his silk bedding, he grabbed an old leather journal, hearts and quotes and sadness craved on the cover, smoothed by time. That’s when Harry started writing ‘The song’.

 

The first time Harry told Louis about his feelings, he knew Louis wouldn’t remember.  
He was hammered, at Nick Grimshaw’s party. The thing was, they’d interacted through the years, exchanging banter and pleasantries, and Harry distinctly remembered that night in New York, at a dinner with other people about six months before, Louis slipping his hand in his under the table, with no apparent reason.  
But there was something about _tonight_ , and he knew the exact moment he spotted Louis, laughing carelessly with Liam Payne, glass in hand, fingers so delicate, a dainty way about him, how he flicked his wrist, his head tilting back and the tendon on his neck looking just so… ugh, and he had a slight scruff and his t-shirt was so scoop-necked that it should be illegal, allowing his chest tattoo to peak out. 

When they ended up in a small room, filled with cushions and sofas, paved with fluffy carpets, and they were alone, hands tangled, Harry was surprised and yet not at all.  
Louis was high as a kite and sloppy drunk, all over Harry. Harry himself was buzzed, but not as much. Not so much as to forget what Louis told him.  
They were spread on the floor, pupils blown staring at the ceiling, fingers intertwined, silent. This was when Harry was supposed to say something, anything. _You look so beautiful tonight. You smell so good. Why do we always seem to be slipping away?_ Louis was the first to speak, instead. 

“Sometimes,” his voice was croaky, a little ruined. It did things to Harry he didn’t want to analyse, given their high level of intoxication. “Sometimes I just feel so alone. Like there’s a life for me that’s just within my reach but as I try to- I don’t know. And then it’s gone.”

Harry coughed, overwhelmed and he didn’t even get why. “I’m not sure I get it.” 

(Lie)

“I’m actually sure you do.”

Harry turned to him, finding Louis’ soft gaze already on him.

“You are?” he asked. “What makes you say that?”

Louis scooted closer, his breath hot in Harry’s ear. Harry’s brain felt like it was filled with cotton and glitter. Or something like that.

“You,” Louis exhaled. 

They were so close.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. Even when most of it was eaten by black, like now, the blue of Louis’ eyes was Harry’s favourite colour, forever.

Louis sighed, almost miserably. He pressed a soft kiss to the spot just below Harry’s ear. “I don’t know,” he just said, so low it felt like a dream. 

Harry rolled on his side, to run a hand on Louis’ back, the one that wasn’t still holding his. It was quite uncomfortable, but fuck if Harry gave a damn. 

Louis was even closer.  
Harry could smell his skin and hear his heart and even the flutter of his eyelashes, maybe.

They kissed for what felt like hours, almost sleepily, soft kittenish moans and wet sounds filling the room. 

“I don’t get you,” Louis said as some point.

“I love you,” Harry replied.

Louis giggled quietly. “Right.”

“I do,” Harry insisted. He wasn’t sure he himself would remember this – turns out that yes, he will – so he was confident that Louis wouldn’t. All in all, he was almost sad about it.

“You don’t even know me,” Louis whispered, and kissed him even better than before. 

 

It wasn’t the last time Louis told him as much.  
Only the next one, Louis didn’t kiss him better and Harry was leaving to shoot a film and they’d spend a whole summer and possibly even longer apart.  
And now they were working on the song, the song that Harry had been writing about Louis since December 2014.  
As Louis got away again, in the back of a taxi, after a fleeting kiss, the sentence Harry had added to his lyrics after Nick’s party was all he could see, burned behind his eyes. _I can’t hold you, too close now_.

 

They first time they got off with each other, it was on the phone. Well, it wasn’t exactly with each other, but it almost felt like it, as Harry stared at the screen and hoped Louis was touching himself with the same fervour as Harry was, thinking about him, missing him while he was away and they’re just reconnected. Or connected for the first time.

 

The first time Harry decided to let lyrics speak, it wasn’t even his own. Louis seemed to be oblivious to Harry’s own song meaning, at this point, but he’d get there. Harry didn’t feel like it was fair, giving how harshly closeted he was, to pull Louis with him, when he might be unwilling, when he’d been so courageous and smart to come out the way he did, not to sign a contract with the devil like Harry had. Things were going to be better, but for superstition and whatever else, Harry couldn’t say it out loud. He’d been fucked over too many times by the industry, every fake date and planted storyline and it hurt him, a lot, but the thought of hurting Louis was even more unbearable. Yet, Harry couldn’t drown Louis with his feelings, with just how long, how deep, how rooted within him they were. Also, getting to really know Louis felt like a chance, to fall in love with him all over again, his faults and quirks, his sharp remarks, the pain when he left after cuddling a bit. The way he seemed to be onto Harry at some point, and then roll his eyes at how ‘straight’ he was.  
So the game begun. Maybe he could rile him up a bit, but also speak without speaking, letting the words of others tell Louis that Harry wanted him, bad, but he wanted to give him a choice, the chance to get away. Because it could be hard, it could be painful. (It could be worth it).

 

The first Harry got hurt by Louis, for real, they were in LA. The most painful moment was in a moving car, how dramatic, how cinematic really. Harry wanted to tell him, because it was poisoning their relationship. Of course, Louis knew Harry wasn’t straight, he knew he was closeted, stunting and suffering – Harry would never forget how intimate it had felt, to cry on Louis’ chest, slim yet strong arms enveloping him, making him feel safer and more loved than he’d ever felt in his life.  
At this point, Louis also knew the song was about him, how could he not? However, Harry needed to let it out, hear it become real in the air around them, so real he couldn’t take it back, so real Louis had to face it.

“Lou,” he was saying, without overthinking it, “I need to tell you something. About the song.”

Louis kissed him frantically, on top of him on the seat. 

“No. No, please. Let’s not ruin this.”

And that. That hurt. Louis thought having Harry’s bare heart laid in front of him, to take and cherish or crush and drain, would ‘ruin’ things. Louis didn’t feel the same and didn’t want to say it out loud.  
It would have been the time to let go, maybe. It was fun, best sex of my life, thanks for the memories, let’s have one final dinner, and then I’ll open you up and fuck you so slow and deep you tear up, thighs trembling, come three times, and then that’s it. See you in the studio to perfect the song, and that’s it. I love you too much and that’s it.

That wasn’t it.

Harry pushed, because he couldn’t help but thinking that Louis was just afraid, of something bigger than them, but Louis had to feel the same, a love like Harry’s couldn’t be one-sided, not at this point. 

“Lou, listen, I don’t think it would be ru-”

“It would, it would, I don’t wanna know, okay?”

That was the first time Harry knew he would let Louis rip out his heart and still be there to take whatever he could get, he was that addicted to loving him.

 

The first time Harry made love with Louis was the first time he fucked Louis. That much he knew. Even if he hadn’t told him, it was there, between them, in their shared breaths, pet names, harsh thrusts and slow rolls of hips, swollen mouths and sweaty hair, demanding hands and dreamy eyes. It was there. Maybe one day it would be out in the open.

 

Turns out, it happened. Of course, Louis beat him to it, small and playful and sexy but serious, natural, even. ‘Love you’ between kisses and that was it. They were it. Forever.

 

“Hey,” Louis nudged his shoulder with his head. “What’s on your mind?”

This time, Harry didn’t lie.

“You. Our… history, like. A song.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but he was so incredibly fond, it made Harry’s insides melt.

“Which one is it?” Louis chuckled, hand sliding into Harry’s perfectly, Louis’ new wrist tattoo lining up with is.

“It’s kind of one and the same,” Harry smiled. “You should know that by now.”

“Will you show me?” Louis asked. 

Harry knew he meant the song, but he meant everything else, too. A song that one of them would write for the other was everything. It was Louis, it was Harry, it was a word hushed in the middle of orgasm and a deep conversation with a bottle of wine in the new house in Hampstead they had moved in, together. It was their history, too, one with nights alone when the other was away, nights together, exploring South America and meeting in Japan and meeting each other’s families, it was those crazy months before they’d gotten their shit together, it was a day in the park when a boy with a lilac beanie had pulled Harry on a side, saying ‘You love him, don’t you?’ and just hugged Harry tight, even if he was just a fan, someone who knew Harry’s exterior, back when he was the ladies’ man of the industry and it was probably the first time Louis and Harry had gone out for lunch together without other people.  
Their history was a late night call with James, ecstatic that ‘his masterplan had finally worked’, it was Ed’s support, before Louis knew how Harry even felt, and Jade and Jesy beaming at them, Perrie yelling ‘and you thought he’d shagged _me_ , you idiot!’ and smacking Louis hard between his shoulders, it was a night out with Liam and Niall pretending they were a boyband, Zayn laughing long saying ‘nah, mates, I couldn’t make it’. Their history was Louis asking Steve to officiate their wedding one day. They’d all laughed, but that night, Louis on top of Harry, three fingers deep inside him, Harry had to ask, ‘Did you mean it?’, without elaborating, because Louis knew what he was wondering about. Louis had just pressed their foreheads together, then leaned back, allowing Harry to get an eyeful of his gorgeous face, the just of his cheekbones and the dampness on his lips, his flush and his sweat, and that entrancing blue, those eyes, gaze firm on Harry and wow. This is what love looks like, Harry thought. Wondered if there could ever be a love like theirs. Probably not.

_Of course I meant it, Harold. You’re my love, my baby, you’re my home, and soon I’m going to marry the shit out of you._

“Hey,” Louis poked his ribs, lightly. “You’re pensive today! I asked, will you show me?”

“I’ll show you, yeah,” Harry laughed, because Louis’ eager, curious expression was just too precious.

Louis nodded, satisfied, but not for long. “How do you call it?” 

“Um. ‘If I could fly’.”

“Oh,” Louis slumped back on the car seat. What’s with them and conversations in moving town cars, honestly. Someone should make a film out of their lives. Such visuals. “I’m gonna cry, right?”

Harry cackled. “Gonna cry,” he agreed then, adjusting his suit because the car was slowing down.

The flashes were there already, outside their little nest. It was about to get blinding, but Harry was used to it: he looked at Louis every day.

“You ready?” he asked Louis, taking his hand, a bit sweaty with nerves, but maybe it was Harry’s own.

Louis smirked. “You’re the movie star, baby, not me.”

“Yeah, but this is our- You know! Ready, though. Yes. Ugh, okay, maybe I’m freaking-”

Louis kissed him silent, quickly pulling away, but keeping delicate fingers at the nape of his neck, where Harry’s hair had gotten way longer, perfectly styled for his big premiere. 

“I’m ready,” Louis nodded. “But for real, are you?”

Harry swallowed. It was going to be madness. He’d poked his head out of his closet quite enough to seed the thought within fans and media, his contracts with his label and management had expired in June, he was finally free. But yeah, he was also scared shitless. For what, though, he wondered. He had the love of his life by his side, a beautiful family and a supportive fanbase, a successful duet topping every chart, a film about to be shown for the first time. 

“I might never be ready,” he admitted. Because yeah, he had all of that, but this was it, his life was about to change, and he wasn’t naïve enough to think that there would be no backlash. “But you’re here. I want to do this. Like… today our new life begins.”

Louis rolled his eyes playfully, but held Harry’s hand tighter. “Save this sentence for our wedding day.”

There was a light in his eyes Harry had never seen. And Harry had seen entire galaxies in those eyes.  
He found himself breathless, heart drumming in his chest for reasons that had nothing to do with his imminent coming out, bringing Louis as his date to the first showing of his film.

“Soon?” he asked in a whisper.

Louis nodded, leaning over Harry to open the car door. They still hadn’t seen who was behind the smoked windows, but photographers were already going crazy.

“Soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooo this is it. sorry if the epilogue is anticlimactic or something, to me the story ended with the previous chapter but i felt like i needed to give it another closure and i thought i'd switch the perspectives, show how harry felt through everything. 
> 
> also, MAJOR APOLOGIES FOR MY ABSENCE! honestly, life just got in the way, it was a bit of a shitty time and too many things added up, i literally had no spare time and on top of that i was feeling horrible on a personal level. 
> 
> thank you SO MUCH to every kind soul who spared a moment to like / comment on this.  
> i'm humbled at your loving words and i'm so so happy every time i read a new comment.  
> all the love everyone 
> 
> xx N

**Author's Note:**

> I'll edit these as I go on. Please please give me feedback, I am set on ending this but some motivation is always good. :)
> 
> Prompt: http://headscarvesandtattoos.tumblr.com/post/154680604968/headscarvesandtattoos-au-where-harry-and-louis


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